


Black Water

by fbismoak (midwestwind)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, Alternate Universe - Noir, Canonical Character Death, Depictions of wounds, Detective Noir, Eventual Romance, F/M, Minor Character Death, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-17 00:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 114,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midwestwind/pseuds/fbismoak
Summary: Oliver Queen is the Head Homicide Detective for the Starling City Police Department, a job he’s been in too long. It’s left him rough around the edges and privy to the harsh realities of the world. When a serial killer rolls into Starling with a penchant for tech as their murder weapon of choice, the FBI sends in their best and brightest; Technical Analyst Felicity Smoak. While they begrudgingly work together to hunt down their killer, Felicity finds herself drawn to the mystery of Oliver’s past while Oliver finds himself drawn to Felicity.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't what I was supposed to be working on, sorry I'm a flop. So, I put a warning on this for graphic depictions of violence. It's not so much a thing in the chapters I have written so far, but I figure it will become a thing in the future, I just like people to be prepared. The last time I wrote a noir fic, it got a little violent.
> 
> Also, it's kind of a darker universe because, yeah, it's noir. No one's happy in noir. But I am very excited about this and I hope you guys enjoy it!! This is really just the intro chapter, so it's a little shorter. I'm trying to figure out how much interest there might be for something like this, so please drop a comment or kudos just to let me know if you're interested! Okay, I'll shut up now. Enjoy!

Some days Oliver wishes he hadn’t given up smoking when he’d returned to Starling. It had taken him months to kick the habit, but his lungs could tell the difference and it had certainly made training for the police academy easier. Besides, they more or less frowned upon it in the department, preferring their officers avoid most vices.

 

Apparently, the same couldn’t be said for the Medical Examiner’s office. Oliver watches as a pasty guy in a windbreaker who looks to be a solid eight years his junior takes one last drag from the cigarette between his fingers before flicking it to the pavement. He turns, leaving the still burning cigarette smoking in the gutter and Oliver narrows his eyes at him. The man meets Oliver’s gaze, feeling the dark stare being leveled his way, and stops to hastily grind the lit end of the cigarette into the pavement.

 

“Detective Queen.”

 

He turns at the sound of his name, finding Dr. Schwartz sending him a familiar look of disapproval. The fingernail of his middle finger scrapes over the pad of his thumb in a tense gesture, his body suddenly longing for the first taste of tobacco in almost five years.

 

“I would so appreciate it if you could refrain from trying to glare my employees into submission,” Schwartz continues, holding her leather bag in front of her thighs. It looks heavy, but her arms betray a subtle strength, hidden beneath her own dark blue windbreaker.

 

“What’s your prognosis, Doc?” He asks lightly, ignoring her scolding and looking, instead, over her short frame to where the corpse he’d been called in about still sits, exposed to the open air and the beginnings of a crowd forming along the police line.

 

“We’ll need to move the body to my office before I can make any official statement,” she says, democratic as always. Oliver tilts his head, eyes coming back to hers as he raises an eyebrow at the brush off. They know each other better than that by now.

 

Schwartz sighs, giving in. “Unofficially, I’d call him number three. It’s just a preliminary examination, I’ll have to go through the usual routine, but he has the same small mass on his back. I’d bet my medical degree it’ll be on his T four vertebra.”

 

“Fuck,” Oliver huffs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose in a show of frustration. He drops his hand nearly as quickly as he lifts it, remembering the forming crowd behind him. It’s not that he hadn’t been expecting the news, but some small part of him - a hopeful part, somehow left behind after years of having every last bit of optimism forcefully removed - had thought maybe, just maybe, they could catch a damn break.

 

“I’ll have more information once I’ve done an autopsy and we have a positive ID,” Schwartz assures him, unfazed by his surly attitude. Behind her head, his partner is crouched low next to the body, her hand coming up to wave him over silently as she catches his gaze.

 

“We’ll secure the scene and get out of your team’s way for transportation,” he tells her, already moving to step around her. Dinah stands as he approaches her, adjusting the zipper on her leather jacket so that it’s closer to her collar, the cool wind coming off of the shoreline whipping her hair to one side.

 

Oliver looks down towards the man spread across the concrete at their feet. His skin has turned sickly pale, but his blue eyes are open to the sky above, ringed in the red of burst blood vessels. The concrete of the parking lot beneath him is a smooth gray, but a dark red bloom spreads outward across it from his side. Oliver frowns.

 

“Looks like this one put up a fight,” Dinah says, noticing where his interest has landed. He crouches down, mirroring her position from earlier and pulling a pair of black, latex gloves from his jacket pocket.

 

“That’s new,” he comments. Gently, he tugs at the man’s shoulder, rolling him slightly onto his side so he can examine the wound at his back. It’s a clean laceration, slicing through the layers of his clothes along with enough skin and muscle to create the pool of blood beneath him. Oliver knows they’ll have to wait for an official decision from Schwartz, but he knows a knife wound when he sees one.

 

“Yeah, I’ve never seen this guy leave behind a mess before,” Dinah comments. She waves over a CSI as Oliver lowers the man gently back to the concrete. When he stands, Dinah is holding a leather wallet out to him with her own gloved fingers. He takes it from her, flipping it open and checking through the contents.

 

“I.D. belongs to a Ted Gaynor and the photo looks to be right,” she continues as Oliver pulls the card out for himself. The name seems familiar but he can’t place it. He nods in agreement, sliding it back into the pocket it had come from. There are a few credit cards with a matching name, a rewards card for TechVilliage, nothing too interesting in the wallet’s contents.

 

“That’s enough for presumptive,” he says, sliding the bright blue rewards card back into the wallet. “Once the techs are done, let’s get out of the way for Schwartz to get the body moved. She can get us a positive ID from dentals.”

 

“Got it,” Dinah nods, stepping away to relay his instructions to the CSI who had brought her the wallet. Oliver continues through the various cards, pulling out a black card and turning it over in his hands. There’s nothing written on it, no logo, names, or signatures. There is a magnetic strip on the back, though, which might give them something. He slides it back into the wallet and hands it off to a lab tech who drops it into an evidence bag and seals it.

 

“Alright, they’re gonna finish up here,” Dinah says, coming back to his side. The techs move around them, clearing the body and making room for the medical examiner’s team to move in and transport. One of them kneels next to the blood on the ground, scraping the dried substance for a blood sample. If dentals fail, they may be able to get a positive ID from the victim’s DNA. “You want me to take a uniform and canvas the area? Someone may have seen something without even knowing it.”

 

“Are you just offering because it means I have to go back and deal with the captain?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at her warily. Dinah is usually pretty unflappable, but the uptick of one side of her mouth betrays her amusement at Oliver having to brief their commanding officer on the latest development.

 

“No,” she says, not even bothering to hide the sarcasm in her voice. “I just really love door duty.”

 

\---

 

“Heads up, he’s in a bad mood.”

 

Oliver slows his pace towards the captain’s office as McKenna catches up with him, matching her stride to his. He looks over at her, waiting for further explanation and trying to temper his annoyance when he receives none. It’s been a long couple of weeks for everyone, the department scrambling over this new threat looming over their city. He’s trying not to take it out on everyone else.

 

“You say that like he knows what a good mood is,” he comments, a little sourly. He’s not looking forward to having to brief the C.O. on their latest victim. Three officially makes it a serial killer, the first Starling has seen in a while, and it’s on Oliver that they haven’t been caught yet.

 

“He got a call from the commissioner this morning after news broke,” McKenna explains, lowering her voice. She places her hand on Oliver’s forearm, prompting him to halt in his stride. “The mayor is insisting on bringing the Feds in. Apparently someone had already reached out to her about helping out, so it’s out of any of our hands.”

 

Oliver feels a hot spike of annoyance flare within him. It’s never a good thing when they bring in outside help on cases like these. Public distrust is bad enough without adding a federal agent into the mix. If whoever this person is reached out, that’s probably worse. Some fresh blood trying to make themselves the next Eliot Ness. Nothing makes you a household name like nabbing a serial killer.

 

McKenna throws her hands up in defense suddenly, startling Oliver out of his annoyance.

 

“Woah,” she says, taking a step back from him. “Direct those murder eyes somewhere else, please. I’m just the messenger.”

 

“Sorry,” he grunts, turning away from her to continue towards the captain’s office. McKenna falls into step next to him again. “I just hate outside help.”

 

“Funny,” she comments, her tone too light to be anything but forced. “I was under the impression you hated any kind of help.”

 

He doesn’t bother to respond, pushing open the door to the captain’s office instead. His failure to knock will cost him, he’s sure, especially when he spots Lance standing behind his desk with his phone to his ear. He levels Oliver with a dirty look, but waves him and McKenna into the office anyway as he argues with whoever is on the other end of the line.

 

From the snippets Oliver hears, he assumes it’s the mayor. He also assumes that whatever Lance wants, he isn’t going to be getting. He makes eye contact with McKenna, who raises her eyebrows at the one-sided exchange they’re overhearing. She moves towards Lance’s desk, settling into one of the two chairs and crossing her ankles beneath it. Oliver decides to hover behind the other chair instead.

 

“Waste of a good vote,” Lance huffs as he slams the headset back into its base. “When’s the next election year?”

 

“Doesn’t much matter if there’s no one to run against her,” McKenna shrugs, unaffected by Lance’s mood. He raises his eyebrows, looking between them and holding his hands out at his sides.

 

“You two just here to witness me break something or do you actually have something to tell me?” He asks.

 

“I wanted to update you on the call we grabbed this morning,” Oliver says and Lance holds up a hand, stopping him before he can continue.

 

“Unless it’s to tell me that it had nothing to do with spinal implants or brain hemorrhages, I really don’t want to hear it,” he says and, when Oliver stays silent, he huffs. “Can’t you ever bring me good news?”

 

“Detective Drake is canvassing the area, looking for anyone who may have seen something,” Oliver goes on, ignoring the familiar attitude from his captain. “Dr. Schwartz and her office are working on the autopsy and will call as soon as they’ve finished up, but it appears to be the same M.O. as the last two. Schwartz noticed the same type of lump on his spine.”

 

“Ah, Christ,” Lance growls, glaring down at his desk. His eyes dart towards the attached cabinet on his side of the desk, locked with a key only he has a copy of. Oliver narrows his eyes, noticing the movement and wondering how long Lance thinks he can keep them all fooled.

 

“What did the mayor have to say?” McKenna asks, redirecting the conversation and pulling Lance’s attention back to them.

 

“That I could go fuck myself,” he bites. McKenna, to her credit, doesn’t even flinch. “Said she’s bringing in outside help whether I like it or not. So now we have some technical analyst hotshot from D.C. coming in to breathe down our necks and spook everyone in the city out of talking.”

 

“In fairness,” Oliver admits, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “They didn’t have much to say to begin with.”

 

Lance levels him with a dark look and he shrugs in response, dropping his hand and shoving them both in his pants pockets. As per usual, it’s McKenna who gets them back on track, used to the animosity between the two. Oliver gave up on trying to keep up some semblance of civility with Lance years ago. He can do his job just fine without the Captain’s unending praise.

 

“How long do we have before they arrive?” She asks.

 

“Their plane just landed,” Lance offers. “The city sent a car to pick them up and bring them here, so give or take a half hour.” He sends another look Oliver’s way. “What? Did you not make it home last night? You look like hell. Go clean up and get back here in twenty minutes.”

 

Oliver’s lips twist in annoyance, his jaw working to suppress the choice words he has for his captain, but he’s learned better self control than that by now. Instead, he takes Lance’s words and turns to head for the door again. He hears the sound of McKenna’s hard soled boots as she follows after him.

 

“Figured you’d be better at not letting him get to you by now,” she comments behind him and Oliver lets out a frustrated sigh. With himself more than her. She’s right, he should just be accustomed to Lance’s general disapproval for anything he does by now. Yet somehow it manages to sting every time.

 

It’s what he gets for fancying himself a better person or some shit.

 

“He didn’t,” he lies, turning back to her. Lance’s door is closed again and Oliver imagines he’s unlocked his desk drawer now that he’s alone. “It’s just been a long few weeks.”

 

McKenna studies him, looking unconvinced, but she won’t call him on it. Mostly because she knows he doesn’t want to hear it. He imagines she’s tired of telling him what he already knows anyway.

 

“You do look like crap,” she says finally, no sympathy in the words as she turns on the ball of her foot and heads back towards her own desk. “Go take a shower.”

 

\---

 

Oliver doesn’t bother leaving the station to get cleaned up. Lance had been half right, he’d only been home for a little under an hour before he got the call about the body this morning. He’d decided to canvas the neighborhood where they’d found the second victim, Max Fuller, and see if anyone suspicious came around, revisiting the scene they’d created.

 

The problem was that they’d found Fuller a few blocks west of the club he owned. Everyone coming by looked suspicious in that area at that time of night. Oliver had passed out on his couch when he got home and managed a solid forty-five minutes of sleep before he got the call from Dinah who’d picked up the call from dispatch. He hadn’t even showered or put on his usual suit before heading over.

 

The water pressure in the showers hidden on the basement level of the police station leaves something to be desired, but it gets the job done in waking him up and washing away two days worth of sweat and dirt. His sister keeps telling him he needs to take better care of himself and, normally he thinks he’s doing just fine. But it’s cases like this one, the ones that won’t go down easy and steal sleep from him, that make it hard to keep himself together. Cases that remind him too heavily of the darkness that hangs around him, clings to him and threatens to suffocate him.

 

The water jumps suddenly from warm to icy against his skin, skipping any middle all together and shocking him out of his thoughts. He rinses the rest of the soap from his body quickly before shutting the water off with a quiet curse. There’s an old suit stashed in his locker, not the best one he has but good for a day like this one.

 

It’s twenty-five minutes after Lance sent him away that he rejoins them in his office.

 

“Five minutes late,” Lance offer gruffly, looking over something on his desk rather than at Oliver. “That’s practically early for you.”

 

Oliver brushes off the insult, dropping into one of the chairs in front of Lance’s desk. McKenna occupies the other, looking over a file spread open in her lap. His hair is still wet and he can feel it dripping into the collar of his shirt, grating at his already wired nerves. They all sit in silence for another ten minutes, Oliver periodically checking his quiet phone, hoping for an update from Dinah.

 

“Apparently punctuality isn’t the FBI’s strong suit,” Lance says, finally breaking the silence as he realizes what time it is. He turns a dark smirk on Oliver as he continues, “Maybe you should consider a career change. Fit right in.”

 

“They probably got held up around Ninth Street,” McKenna suggests. “That whole block has been closed off since the mayor’s restoration project went into effect.”

 

“Can anyone remember the last time that woman did something that actually helped?” Lance wonders aloud, shifting things around on his desk to clear it. He’s still annoyed, but his mood has improved somewhat since Oliver left his office the first time. It only heightens his suspicions about his captain.

 

“Pretty soon the voters will start asking themselves that question,” McKenna says, slapping her own folder closed and tossing it towards Lance’s desk. He snatches it, sending her an annoyed look, and adding it to the neat pile he’s created. “Then, it’ll be in their hands to deal with him.”

 

“Like you said,” Oliver reminds her, remembering her comment from earlier. “Doesn’t matter if no one runs against her.”

 

McKenna hums in acknowledgement. They sit for another minute or so, McKenna impatiently tapping her fingers against the arm of the chair while Lance continues to unnecessarily tidy his desk. Oliver watches him curiously, trying to figure out what exactly this sudden turn towards cleanliness is meant to be compensating for.

 

“Okay, I have other cases I need to check in on today,” McKenna says suddenly, lifting her arm so she can check the watch at her wrist. “I can’t wait for this person much longer.”

 

Lance grumbles something they aren’t really meant to hear and McKenna pushes herself out of her chair. Oliver follows her lead, not really liking the idea of sitting in Lance’s office with just the other man for company. He usually makes it a habit of having a buffer when he interacts with him.

 

McKenna steps around her chair to make for the door, but halts as someone knocks lightly at the frosted glass pane. The door swings open suddenly as a uniformed officer leads a woman inside.

 

“This is the captain’s office,” he explains and the woman smiles brightly at him in thanks. Oliver looks around at Lance who seems just as confused as he is.

 

“I’m sorry, miss,” he says, standing from his chair behind his desk. “We’re right in the middle of something. If you’re looking to give a statement, I’m sure one of our detectives can help you.”

 

The uniformed officer stares at Lance in confusion, but Oliver is the one leveling him with a glare. He should know better than to just lead anyone back into the captain’s office. There are proper channels, the least of which includes waiting for a response after knocking on a door.

 

“Oh, no,” the woman says, taking another step into the office. Oliver spots her shoes, sky high heels that must give her a solid five inch increase in height. And yet, she still seems tiny in comparison to everyone else in the room. “Sorry, I was under the impression you were expecting me. The mayor said she’d call ahead, but I’m sure she’s a busy woman, right? I mean, _mayor_.”

 

The room is quiet for a moment, but her shiny disposition seems unaffected by it.

 

“I’m sorry, you’re a federal agent?” Oliver questions when no one else does. The woman nods, the smile on her face never wavering as her ponytail bounces around with the sudden movement. He realizes she’s got a large travel bag hanging at her elbow.

 

“Agent Smoak,” she says, twisting suddenly to dig through a pocket of the luggage and pull out her ID badge. She flips it open, revealing the proper seal and picture of herself that doesn’t look much different from how she looks standing in front of them now. “Felicity Smoak.”

 

Her skirt is an almost violent shade of fuschia to match the color of her nails where they wrap around her badge, still held aloft for them to see. If he didn’t already know she doesn’t belong here, it wouldn’t be hard to figure out. The office around her is muted tones of beige and brown and even he and his fellow officers are covered in natural colors; black, gray, brown. She stands in contrast to everything he’s used to - bright eyes, bright lips, bright clothes.

 

It’s a little bit like seeing color for the first time and he can’t decide if it’s pleasant or not.

 

His instinct is ‘not’ because, whatever colors she’s brought with her, she’s not supposed to be here. A territorial instinct kicked in the moment McKenna mentioned the Feds, but it’s heavier now that he’s seen her. There’s something about her standing here, in his space, that just screams ‘wrong’ and he wants her to hop on the first plane back to D.C. and out of his case.

 

She must finally notice the tension in the room, because her smile drops and she blinks a few times before flipping her ID closed and dropping it back into the pocket she’d pulled it from.

 

“Right,” Lance says finally, breaking the incredibly awkward silence they’ve all allowed following her introduction. “This is the team working on the case.”

 

When he doesn’t say anything else, Oliver realizes he’s clearly decided it’s up to them to introduce themselves. He suppresses the urge to let the room fill with another uncomfortable silence - hey, maybe it’ll make her want to leave when she realizes just how socially awkward their whole department seems to be - and takes a step forward, his hands in his pants pockets rather than held out for a hand shake.

 

“I’m Oliver Queen,” he offers, a little gruffer than he really intends. Felicity doesn’t even flinch, in fact her eyes light up just a touch as he says his name.

 

“I know who you are,” she says instantly, her hands going out, palms up, as she speaks. Oliver raises an eyebrow at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice as she continues, “You’re Head Detective Queen. I’ve read all about the case and I’ve seen your reports. You’re surprisingly thorough.”

 

The room goes quiet once more as Oliver frowns at her. He can’t see McKenna’s and Lance’s expressions, but he sees Felicity’s gaze flick over to them and she must realize how odd she’s come off because she flinches a little. Her hands clench together where they’re still raised, dropping to her sides limply as she frowns.

 

“Sorry,” she apologizes, giving a little head shake that makes her ponytail sway across her shoulders. “I make it a habit to keep an eye on cases with an interesting tech element. And this case? It’s definitely what I’d consider interesting. A device inserted into the vertebra with almost surgical precision that triggers a cerebral hemorrhage? That’s so cool!”

 

Oliver’s frown deepens and she catches herself.

 

“And awful,” she tacks on, holding one hand out in front of herself, palm up towards the ceiling again. “Obviously… awful.”

 

“Obviously,” Lance echoes, a bite of sarcasm to his voice that Oliver knows she doesn’t miss. Felicity straightens her shoulders, adjusting her stance just the slightest to appear a little harder. She gives the vibe of a kitten trying to look like a lioness. “You know, Ms. Smoak-”

 

“Agent Smoak,” she corrects, her eyes narrowing in on Lance.

 

“ _Agent_ Smoak,” he tries again. “I’m still not sure we need your help on this case. All due respect, but my department works better from within. We’ve been handling things just fine without any federal help.”

 

“And, with all due respect to your department, Captain Lance, three dead men doesn’t strike me as ‘handling things just fine,’” she tells him, a surprising hardness to her tone. Oliver raises an eyebrow, reconsidering his previous dismissal. Perhaps she’s less of a house cat than he’d thought. “And clearly your mayor agrees. I may have reached out to offer my help, but she accepted because she doesn’t think your department is getting the job done. So, you may not want me here and that’s fine, but unfortunately it’s out of either of our hands.”

 

Oliver thinks he hears Lance’s jaw snap audibly shut and he resists the urge to smirk at his C.O.’s expense. McKenna doesn’t share his restraint, letting out a quiet laugh at Felicity’s response to Lance’s attempt at dismissal. She takes a step forward, holding her hand out to Felicity in the warmest show of welcome she’s received yet.

 

“I’m Lieutenant Hall,” she offers as Felicity grasps her hand. McKenna gives it a firm shake. “Why don’t you tell me where you’d like to start, Agent Smoak?”

 

\---

 

Oliver waits anxiously at his desk for Dinah to return. She’d texted not long after McKenna had left with Felicity to let him know she was on her way back from the scene. He’s sure it’s been cleaned up by now and they should be hearing from Dr. Schwartz soon.

 

Dinah comes into the bullpen finally, a uniform trailing behind her. She gives some sort of instruction and he breaks off, heading away from them as she continues towards Oliver. He pushes out of his chair to meet her.

 

“Tell me you found something,” he says before she can. The look on her face tells him all he needs to know and he lets out a quiet curse. Dinah nods in agreement before tilting her body a little to glance past him towards Lance’s office.

 

“I heard they pulled in a fed,” she comments, seeing the closed door and returning her attention to Oliver. “They here yet?”

 

“McKenna’s giving her a tour and getting her set up down in the technical department,” he explains. Off Dinah’s look, he adds, “She’s a computer analyst of some kind. Not a field agent.”

 

Dinah rolls her eyes, letting out a sigh, “That’s somehow more insulting.”

 

Oliver just shrugs. Exhaustion has turned his annoyance into apathy and he can’t find it in him to commiserate with Dinah right now. He knows she’s feeling just as trod upon as he is. The city leadership is losing faith in their ability to wrap this case up and, honestly, Oliver isn’t sure he can blame them. It’s been weeks of few leads and endless dead ends.

 

His phone begins to trill in his pocket and he pats his pants, looking for the offending device before pulling it out to answer the call.

 

“Dr. Schwartz,” he greets. On the other end, the woman informs him that her preliminary examination is finished and she’s ready to declare cause and manner. He sends a look Dinah’s way. “We’ll be right down.”

 

“Another trip to the M.E.’s office?” She asks, already tugging the zipper on her coat back up.

 

“And you say I never take you anywhere nice,” Oliver jokes, grabbing his peacoat off the back of his chair and moving for the exit. Dinah is on his heels, just as eager as he is to get the Medical Examiner’s report and be able to move forward with the latest victim.

 

“Are you going somewhere?”

 

He halts at the voice, turning to find Felicity and McKenna coming up the stairs from the basement where the technical division resides. Computer geeks in the basement. Whoever organized the department may have had a cruel sense of humor.

 

“Agent Smoak,” he says, waving a hand between her and Dinah. He spot the same surprise on his partner’s face that he’d felt when Felicity had shown up. “This is Detective Drake.” He turns his attention to McKenna as the two shake hands. “Schwartz just called and she’s ready to report her autopsy.”

 

“Good,” McKenna say, nodding once. “Head over and update me when you’ve got something to go on.”

 

“The Medical Examiner?” Felicity asks, looking between them. Oliver nods. “If it’s alright, I’d like to come along. Get all up in the process, you know what I mean?”

 

She finishes the sentence with a kind of shimmy and an easy smile. Oliver frowns, surveying her for a moment before sharing a look with Dinah.

 

“Aren’t you a computer analyst?” Dinah asks so he doesn’t have to. “I wouldn’t think corpses would be your expertise.”

 

“Your victims had implants inserted in their spines that literally shocked them to death,” she says, frowning at Dinah’s question. “That’s advanced bioengineering that, so far, no one in your department has managed to fully figure out.”

 

She pauses for a moment as Dinah and Oliver share another look. He can see the frustration building in Felicity and his instinctual urge to press on that nerve, see what it takes to make her leave sooner rather than later, is almost too much to tamp down.

 

“I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes, Detectives,” she says calmly. “I’m just offering myself as an asset.”

 

“Take her,” McKenna says with an air of finality before either of them can debate it any further. “See what her expertise can bring and get back to me. I don’t need to remind you that the captain has brass breathing down his neck about this and unhappy captain…”

 

“Unhappy department,” Dinah finishes for her with a sarcastic smile. McKenna ignores her tone, nodding instead and turning to leave them.

 

“Go,” she instructs.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agent Smoak just wants to help the SCPD find their killer and learn about some interesting tech while she does so. She doesn't expect to hit such a brick wall within the department.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, so the response to this was actually kind of overwhelming! I didn't expect there to be that much interest in a story like this, but it means so much that those of you who are interested seem to be so excited to see where this goes! Hopefully, I won't disappoint. More, technical notes at the end.
> 
> Enjoy!

Felicity waits, nervously bouncing her leg, as her supervisor looks over the file she’s created. She grips the arms of the chair she’s sitting in to keep her hands from shaking. She shouldn’t be this nervous over presenting a case to her supervising agent, but she really wants the woman to accept this one.

 

And she sure is taking her sweet time reading over the information Felicity’s presented her with.

 

“We don’t make it a habit of jumping uninvited onto local cases,” Samandra Watson says finally, flipping the file closed and sliding it back across the desk towards Felicity. “It stirs up trouble with the departments.”

 

“No, I know,” Felicity says, reaching forward to take the folder back. There’s a bright purple paper clip at the top, contrasting the drab vanilla color of the folder and holding the papers within together. “I was just thinking that-”

 

“The department hasn’t officially declared it as a serial killer,” Agent Watson reminds her, cutting off her words. Felicity tamps down the urge to huff in frustration.

 

“ _ Yet _ ,” she insists, because she really doubts whoever this person is is going to stop at two. Their modus operandi is too specific and well thought out for them to stop. “Just let me reach out to the city, see if they’re interested in the extra help.”

 

Watson leans forward across her desk, leveling Felicity with a calculating look. She freezes under the scrutiny, but tightens her shoulders and sits up a little straighter, hoping to convey her seriousness about this case. Watson’s eyes narrow.

 

“Why this case?” She presses. Probably because, typically, Felicity doesn’t ask for much. Sure, she keeps an ear to the ground - or a code to the net, or whatever - for cases involving interesting technology. But if she thinks she can help out, it’s usually in the form of an email or two. Nothing that would make the departments feel as though she’s overstepping her bounds.

 

But this case…

 

She thinks of the photos of the victims she’d seen, all adult men, mostly getting on in years. The second one hadn’t been much older than herself - four years to be exact. With only two victims, it’s hard to create a discernable pattern to them, but the manner of death. That had been something else entirely. The small device inserted into the spine that sent a forceful enough shock to cause brain hemorrhaging to the point of death. It held mysteries she wanted -  _ needed  _ \- to understand.

 

And, from what she can tell, no one in the Starling City Police Department has very much experience with advanced bioengineering or any kind of tech that embeds itself into the body and changes the way it functions.

 

“Because I think I can help,” Felicity says, hoping to sound convincing. “Just let me reach out. If they say no, I’ll drop it.”

 

Watson continues to study her for a moment longer.

 

“Reach out to city leadership,” she says finally and Felicity feels herself relax. “See if they’re interested in the help. If they say yes, then get yourself a plane ticket.”

 

Felicity practically bounces up out of her chair, clutching the folder in her hands and beaming at Watson, nodding along to her instructions.

 

“Thank you,” she says, before realizing she sounds a bit  _ too _ excited and tempering her tone. She repeats herself, more somberly, “Thank you.”

 

She turns to leave with hurried steps, already planning out how she’ll trying to plead her case to the mayor, assuming she can get a hold of them. If the situation is as serious as she’s imagining it is - and she’s read all the case files from the primary detective on the case - then maybe it won’t take much convincing at all.

 

“Agent Smoak,” Watson calls after her, stopping her just inside the threshold of her office. Felicity spins back, raising her eyebrows in surprise at being stopped. “Keep in mind that just because the city’s leadership wants you there, it doesn’t mean the police will feel the same.”

 

Felicity frowns, because shouldn’t they want more help to bring in the person responsible these murders? Still, she nods once at Watson.

 

“You can be a bit of a… presence,” her supervisor continues and, yeah, Felicity doesn’t think it’s meant to be an insult. Still feels like one, though. “Just be prepared for some pushback.”

 

“Understood,” Felicity says, finally turning and hurrying out of Watson’s office. She’s already pulling up the phone number for Starling City Hall on her phone as she heads back to her own office. She has a good feeling about this, though.

 

\---

 

Felicity rides that good feeling all the way through her interaction with the accommodating Mayor Adams, over an excruciating plane ride from D.C. to Washington state. Right up until the moment she’s led into the Starling City P.D.’s captain’s office and treated like an interloper.

 

“Is he always like that?” She asks, unable to help herself.

 

Lieutenant Hall has been leading her around the station, showing her anything she might need and introducing her to various people working on the case in one way or another. The woman seems well liked, but respected, and Felicity likes her if only for the fact that she’d been the first to give her an actual greeting and offer to help her find her footing.

 

“The Captain?” McKenna asks as she leads her down a set of stairs to the lower level of the station. “Yeah, pretty much. Try not to take it too personally. He’s more or less that way with everyone.”

 

“No,” Felicity says shaking her head. McKenna stops outside a door with ‘technical division’ written on the frosted glass in peeling letters. “I actually meant Detective Queen.”

 

“Oh,” McKenna sighs, hesitating outside the closed door and turning to Felicity. She does not take it as a good sign. “Oliver is…” She seems to struggle for the best descriptor, which also does not give Felicity any confidence. “He’s a surprisingly good cop, but he’s just not the best when it comes to people. He’s been through a lot, and that’s on weeks when there isn’t a serial killer running around the city taunting him.”

 

“I guess I just expected him to be, I don’t know,” Felicity admits, struggling. “Different.”

 

“Different how?” McKenna asks, frowning at her. Felicity bites down on her lip and shrugs a little helplessly, because she really doesn’t know. She doesn’t know what she had expected of Oliver Queen, or why she’d thought to expect anything at all. Except, after devouring his reports from the current case, she’d gone through reports of cases he’d closed. It was stupid of her to think that was enough for her to know him.

 

“This is our technical division,” McKenna announces, taking Felicity’s lack of words at face value and returning to the issue at hand. She mumbles, “Brace yourself.”

 

Felicity forgets all about Oliver Queen for a moment as McKenna pushes the door ajar. It opens into a dark office about the size of a broom closet. It might be bigger, but the monitors and servers take up quite a bit of space. She blanches, snapping her jaw shut before McKenna can notice. In fairness, Felicity doesn’t do a lot of visits to outside precincts, but she’s never seen a technical division so small.

 

It hurts her. In her soul.

 

“Oh,” a voice pipes up, startling Felicity. A small woman with brown curls and thick glasses pops up suddenly from behind a monitor. She wipes a hand over her mouth and Felicity thinks they may have interrupted her lunch. “Lieutenant, hi! What brings you down here?”

 

“Alena, this is Agent Felicity Smoak from the FBI,” McKenna introduces, waving a hand towards Felicity who straightens at the introduction. She offers a smile and Alena returns it, just as bright. It makes her feel a bit better. “She’ll be consulting on Detectives Queen and Drake’s murder investigation. Agent Smoak, this is our resident technical analyst, Alena Gyre.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Felicity offers, taking Alena’s hand and shaking it when it pops up over the monitor.

 

“Queen and Drake,” Alena says thoughtfully, dropping Felicity’s hand. She taps at her lip, looking down towards her desk as she thinks about the case McKenna had referenced. “Oh! That’s the one with the bio implant, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity nods. “Have you been able to look at the device being used? Do you have any thoughts on it for me?”

 

“They broke one up and sent me pictures, but they haven’t been able to actually get one down here to me,” Alena admits, frowning. “I might be able to have some answers about how it works if I had access to the device itself, but even then I don’t have much experience with biomedical technology.”

 

“I have a little experience,” Felicity explains, looking between the two women with a slight shrug. “That’s why I’m here.”

 

“Great,” McKenna says, motioning towards Alena. “Consider Alena your right hand on this, then. When it comes to tech, she’s the best in the city.”

 

Alena’s cheeks turn pink at the compliment, but she nods in agreement to working alongside Felicity. She appreciates knowing that she has someone in her camp, at least to an extent. Alena and McKenna seem nice, but they could just be being so accommodating because they feel obligated. Clearly a feeling of obligation neither Captain Lance nor Detective Queen share.

 

“Let’s head back up and check in with Detective Queen,” McKenna instructs as she turns back to Felicity, as if reading where her mind has gone. “Find out what his next move is.”

 

“Sure,” Felicity agrees, shooting one more smile in Alena’s direction. “Nice meeting you.”

 

The last thing she sees before the door swings shut behind McKenna is Alena’s small wave. They make for the stairs again, passing a run down looking shower area that Felicity hates to think of people actually using. As they climb, the chatter from the bullpen reaches them and she makes out two voices, one familiar, coming closer.

 

She’s on the second top step when Oliver comes into view. He’s heading quickly for the exit, a woman in a leather jacket hot on his heels, and Felicity is calling out before she can think better of it.

 

“Are you going somewhere?” She asks and Oliver spins around, spotting her and McKenna as they reach the landing at the top of the stairs. He introduces her to his partner before directing his answer to her question at McKenna instead.

 

“Schwartz just called,” he explains as Felicity shakes Dinah’s hand, “and she’s ready to report her autopsy.”

 

“Good,” McKenna nods next to her. “Head over and update me when you’ve got something to go on.”

 

“The Medical Examiner?” Felicity asks, looking between them. Off Oliver’s nod, she continues, “If it’s alright, I’d like to come along. Get all up in the process, you know what I mean?”

 

_ ‘All up in the process,’ Felicity? Really?  _ She flinches internally at her own terrible use of the English language, but refuses to take it back in front of the three officers. Instead, she gives a strange little shimmy, like the joke had been intentional, and smiles at them. Oliver is staring at her like she’s the strangest person he’s ever met. Maybe she is. God, she hopes she isn’t.

 

The partners share a look and Felicity tenses.

 

“Aren’t you a computer analyst?” Dinah asks and Felicity’s smile falls. “I wouldn’t think corpses would be your expertise.”

 

“Your victims had implants inserted in their spines that literally shocked them to death,” Felicity reminds them, unable to stop the growing frustration building within her. “That’s advanced bioengineering that, so far, no one in your department has managed to fully figure out.”

 

Oliver and Dinah share another look and Felicity can feel her skin warming - with some uncomfortable mixture of anger, pride, and embarrassment. Watson had said to expect pushback, but she’s been here five minutes and they’re treating her like an unpaid intern, rather than a grown woman with a double masters and years of experience. 

 

She presses on with practiced calm, “I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes, Detectives, I’m just offering myself as an asset.”

 

It’s McKenna who makes the decision for them all.

 

“Take her,” she says, a commanding tone to her voice that stops any further argument. “See what her expertise can bring and get back to me. I don’t need to remind you that the captain has brass breathing down his neck about this and unhappy captain…”

 

“Unhappy department,” Dinah finishes, a surprising bite of sarcasm to her tone. Felicity glances over at Oliver who seems unfazed by the exchange or Dinah’s animosity. She’s unsure whether it’s meant to be directed at McKenna or the captain himself.

 

“Go,” McKenna instructs, turning and heading away before any of them can make any further comment.

 

\---

 

It’s an excruciating drive down to the Medical Examiner’s office. Not because it’s particularly far from the station, but mostly because she’s stuffed into the backseat and she’s getting the feeling neither Oliver nor Dinah are big talkers.

 

Which is fine, except that when Felicity is especially uncomfortable, she tends to start to babble. About anything really, whatever comes to mind first. And she’s having a lot of trouble tamping down that urge now.

 

She’s about to start what’s sure to be a terribly eloquent and long winded monologue about airline food when they finally pull into the parking lot of an office building a few blocks north of the police station. Felicity lets out a long, low breath of relief.

 

The building is almost shockingly normal. If it weren’t for the sign outside and the city seal on the front entrance, she’d mistake it for just another bland office building. In a technical sense, she supposes, it is just another bland office building. The people inside show up every day and go about their usual work, whether it’s filing or reports or cutting up corpses. Except, the last part really makes it more than just a typical office building.

 

Oliver and Dinah brush easily past the front desk, knowing their way around. Felicity hurries after them as they take quick steps down a hallway, into a stairwell, further into the depths of the building. They’re both unfairly tall and wearing practical, flat soled shoes and it doesn’t help that Felicity is relatively small and trying to keep up in heels. By the time they reach the examination room, she’s doing her best not to appear winded from following after them.

 

“Welcome, Detectives,” the woman in the room greets. She’s wearing a blue lab coat with ‘Dr. A. Schwartz’ embroidered above the pocket in white thread. Her eyes move over her and Dinah to Oliver’s. “I’m afraid I don’t have any better news than I had this morning.”

 

Oliver’s shoulders shift with the sigh he lets out.

 

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” the woman says, looking away from Oliver. Her sharp eyes land on Felicity and she straightens out of instinct. “I’m Dr. Annabeth Schwartz.”

 

“Felicity Smoak,” Felicity tells her, reaching forward to shake the doctor’s outstretched hand. “I’m consulting on this case for the FBI. You’re the Medical Examiner, I assume.”

 

“If I’m not, I’ve been doing some very strange things with my morning,” Dr. Schwartz responds and Felicity lets out a surprised laugh at the joke. Oliver clears his throat, clearly in an attempt to get them back on topic. Felicity crosses her arms over herself and stomps down on the urge to glare at him.

 

“What do you have to tell us?” He asks, stepping up to the table where the man rests, half covered by a white sheet. The stitches in his chest form a precise Y where his chest has been cut open and closed back up. 

 

Felicity forces herself to take a step forward as well, focusing in on the victim. He has brown hair, mussed from many things that probably include his having been murdered this morning, and bright blue eyes. It’s the red blood ringing his irises that has her taking another step forward, leaning forward to get a better look at the broken blood vessels turning the whites of his eyes various shades of red and pink.

 

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, I’m afraid,” Schwartz informs them. She motions towards the man on the table. “Dentals confirm his name was Ted Gaynor. Fifty-two. Relatively healthy and in great shape for his age. I’d put time of death between two and four this morning.”

 

Felicity straightens up again, a chill coming over her from staring into the dead man’s eyes for so long. She stares, instead, at the very living woman in front of her as Dr. Schwartz continues to give her break down. Stealing a glance to her side, Felicity finds Oliver and Dinah in very similar stances with their arms crossed tightly over their chest, tense in the shoulders, legs spread just so as if prepared for an attack at a moment’s notice.

 

Maybe she’s been reading too many psychology texts.

 

“Can you tell me about what killed him?” Felicity asks, grabbing Schwartz’s attention. The woman nods, turning to grab a small petri dish off of the table behind her and hold it out. An almost microscopic device sits within it. Felicity leans forward again for a better look and Schwartz hands the dish off to her.

 

The device is a silver cylinder and Felicity squints down at it. It appears almost seamless, but she knows there must be a break somewhere where it will reveal it’s internal wiring. She itches to get it open and find out what makes it tick.

 

“Same device as the last two victims,” Dr. Schwartz explains as Felicity examines it. “Inserted with almost surgical precision into the T4 vertebra. I found the same needle prick, so it’s definitely how he’s inserting it into his victims.”

 

“So, he’s just poking them in the back with a needle heavy duty enough to insert something into their spine?” Felicity asks, looking up at the doctor who gives a shrug like ‘seems to be.’ She frowns, looking over at the detectives next to her, “The amount of surgical knowledge necessary to know exactly how and where to insert something like this to get exactly the response he’s looking for… We’re either dealing with someone with an insane intellect or there are more victims than you’re aware of.”

 

“How do you figure?” Dinah asks, tilting her head with a frown. Oliver blinks a few times, seeming to be taking in what she’s suggested on his own.

 

It’s Schwartz who explains for her, nodding at Felicity’s theory, “With something like this, the chances of getting it exactly right the first time is almost statistically impossible. It’s likely that your killer was practicing his technique long before he unleashed the final product.”

 

“Jesus,” Oliver breathes, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Felicity chews on her lip, looking back down at the small device in her hands as he directs his words at Schwartz, “Can you go back over any of the deaths your office has come across over the past two months, even the ones that seemed like natural causes, and look for anything that might be similar to this M.O.?”

 

“I’ll work on it personally,” Schwartz nods.

 

“What about the wound on his back?” Dinah asks, motioning back towards Gaynor on the table. “Seems like he may have had a chance to fight back.”

 

“Like I said, he’s in peak physical condition,” Schwartz says, moving around the table to join them on their side. She slips her gloved hands under his hip and lifts him. The rest of them crowd in to get a look at the laceration on his back. “It’s a knife wound. A run of the mill switchblade most likely. Perimortem, going off of the amount of blood loss and the lack of any healing.”

 

Felicity stares at the wound, frowning to herself as she considers the doctor’s words. Perimortem means it happened around the time of death, so Gaynor probably had the chance to see his attacker before he died. It’s unusual for this case. Both of the other victims hadn’t sustained any injuries leading up to their deaths.

 

Schwartz settles Gaynor back onto the table and reaches for one of his wrists instead, holding it up for them to see. She uses her free hand to highlight the bruising across his knuckles.

 

“Looks like he got a few good hits in before he went down, too,” she explains. “But he could have gotten into a fight before his killer even showed up. All I know for sure is that the bruising occurred around the time of death.”

 

“So, the killer may have stabbed him,” Oliver considers aloud, stepping back from the body. Schwartz sets Gaynor’s hand gently back down on the table. “But it was still the electric shock that killed him?”

 

“Definitely,” Schwartz nods, rounding the table again. She motions towards his eyes. “Same subconjunctival hemorrhaging as in the other victims and his neural network was, for lack of a better term, completely fried.”

 

“That makes sense,” Dinah says, uncrossing her arms to place them on her hips instead as she stares down at Gaynor. “He’s clearly got his killing down, especially if he’d been practicing to get it right. He wouldn’t want to just let one of his targets bleed out after going to the trouble of injecting him with the device in the first place.”

 

Felicity nods, considering it. “This could also cause him to escalate.” She looks around to find the room’s attention on her now. “Now that he’s screwed one up, he may feel a push to prove himself. Killing like this? There has to be an element of pride to it.”

 

The room goes quiet for a moment as they consider that information. Most serial killers begin to escalate after a while, especially ones with an M.O. as specific as this one. It becomes a release and, eventually, an addiction. If they can’t sustain themselves by killing once a month or every few weeks, they’ll up their time tables. It makes them sloppy, but it also makes them more dangerous.

 

“Did the techs bring you the personal effects from the scene?” Oliver asks suddenly. Schwartz nods, snagging an evidence bag off of the table behind her and handing it over to him. Felicity hands her back the petri dish with the device in it.

 

“His wallet?” Dinah asks, frowning as Oliver pulls on a single latex glove and lifts the brown leather wallet from within the bag. “I thought you checked that out at the scene.”

 

“I did,” he nods, flipping the wallet open and looking through until he finds what he’s searching for. He slides a black plastic card from within and holds it up, twisting it over in his hands. “I noticed this when I was looking through it. No name, no logo. There is a magnetic strip on the back though, so it must be for something.”

 

Felicity takes a step towards him, trying to see the card better. He raises an eyebrow at her as she reaches forward suddenly, towards the card.

 

“Can I?” She asks and he nods, holding out the matching glove to his own. She pulls it over her fingers and takes the card from him, rubbing her thumb back and forth over the plastic. She murmurs, “There’s something there.”

 

She looks over to Dr. Schwartz, “Do you have a black light?”

 

The doctor nods, pulling open a drawer and handing her a small, battery powered black light. She takes it, crossing the room to reach the switch. She flips it and the buzzing from the overhead fluorescents cuts out as the room plunges into darkness.

 

“It needs to be dark in here if we’re gonna do this,” she explains, crossing back to where she’d left the detectives. She cringes at her own words. “Ugh, I swear I didn’t mean that to sound so sexual.”

 

“Agent Smoak,” Oliver says and she can’t see him, but she’s sure he’s giving her a tired look. She clears her throat and flips on the black light, holding it over the card in her gloved fingers. Suddenly it lights up with a vibrant purple logo - a bird with its wings spread in flight surrounded by a thin circle. Felicity holds it out for them to see.

 

“Does this mean anything to you?”

 

Oliver’s release of a heavy sigh answers the question for her. She hears footsteps and then the lights come back on. Oliver is standing in front of her, closer than she’d realized in the darkness, and she looks up at him. He meets her eyes for a moment, but she sees a storm brewing there. He knows something she doesn’t. On the other side of the room, Dinah is standing next to the light switch.

 

“Blackhawk is not going to like us showing up and asking questions,” she says, folding her arms over her chest. Oliver nods in agreement.

 

“No, they’re definitely not going to want to give us any answers, but we have to follow the lead,” he says and Dinah nods in agreement. Felicity frowns between them, trying to make sense of the parts of the conversation she’s missing. Oliver takes the card from her and slides it back into the wallet before dropping it into the evidence bag.

 

“I need you to go and see what they’ll tell you about Gaynor,” he instructs and Dinah raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“And where are you going?” She asks, seeming a little put off by having what Felicity can tell is an unsavory task foisted off on her.

 

“I know why his name seemed familiar to me this morning,” he explains, setting the evidence bag down on the table next to Gaynor’s prone form. “Which means I have to go see an old friend.”

 

He doesn’t wait for any further argument from Dinah, crossing past her through the doorway and back into the hall. Felicity frowns as she watches him retreat before looking to Dinah and hooking her thumb in the direction Oliver had gone.

 

“He does know he drove us here, right?”

 

\---

 

Dinah makes a phone call as she and Felicity drive to Blackhawk Squad Protection Group, sans Oliver and in a new department vehicle. Dinah had called for a black and white to come pick them up from the M.E.’s office and Felicity got the feeling that Oliver had a tendency to disappear like this on the regular.

 

“Okay, thanks,” she says as she hangs up the call, looking over to find Felicity staring at her in curiosity. “So, the department has been investigating Blackhawk for fraud and misappropriation of funds. Apparently, Financial Crimes had singled out Gaynor as the likely mastermind, but they hadn’t been able to pin anything on him yet.”

 

“I guess someone did it for them,” Felicity frowns. “If Blackhawk is already under investigation, they’re probably not going to want to talk to another cop and an FBI agent.”

 

“Yeah, this’ll probably be a quick trip,” Dinah sighs. “If they know Gaynor’s dead, it might spook them enough to give us something.” She looks over at Felicity. “But don’t hold your breath.”

 

She wasn’t planning on it. Dinah parks her car down the street from the warehouse the group works out of. Felicity figures it’s a smart maneuver. In a city like this, everyone probably knows exactly what an unmarked detective’s car looks like. Felicity follows her down the sidewalk, content to take her lead, as the warehouse looms over them. For a security agency, it’s surprisingly ostentatious. The same logo she’d found on the card in Gaynor’s wallet it stamped on the upper corner of the building in bright yellow.

 

Dinah shows her badge at the front desk and the kid sitting behind it, probably fresh out of school or more likely a military stint, raises an eyebrow at her. Dinah doesn’t even blink, tilting her head at him and holding his gaze until he calls up to the proper authority.

 

“Mr. Knox will be right down,” he says finally and Dinah turns away from the desk, sliding her badge back onto her belt. She gives Felicity a tired look and they wait for Knox to come down to greet them.

 

Felicity steps away from Dinah and the desk, feeling the boy’s suspicious eyes on her, and surveys the lobby of the building. Glass walls don’t afford the most in the way of privacy or security, but she figures they save the really secretive stuff for the connected warehouse out back. There are two elevators on either side of the room. One seems normal with up and down buttons and a LCD display overhead that ticks down the floors. It’s moving steadily downward.

 

The other one, though, has no buttons. She ventures closer out of curiosity, looking over the metal doors for some form of entrance. All she finds is a black, plastic card reader attached to the wall next to the doors. She wonders if Mr. Gaynor’s nondescript Blackhawk card would have granted her access to whatever the elevator is hiding.

 

The elevator on the other side dings, pulling her interest away from the card reader, and she moves back towards Dinah as the doors slide open. A muscular man with dark skin and a shaved head steps out and heads for them. He’s wearing a suit that looks expensive but ill fitted to his form. Like he has money for a nice suit, but not the knowledge of tailoring that comes with old wealth.

 

“Detectives, welcome,” he greets and Felicity decides not to correct him. If he thinks the feds have been brought in on the fraud investigation it may spook him even faster. He holds his hand out to shake each of theirs in turn and his grip tells Felicity exactly how welcome they actually are. “I’m Paul Knox. I’m second in command here at Blackhawk. What can I help you with?”

 

“Information,” Dinah says, going for a soft tone as she leads into the bad news. Knox cuts her off.

 

“The one thing I really can’t give you,” he says, a little too smug for Felicity’s taste. Dinah sighs, her eyes going a little hard as she tries again.

 

“Your boss is Ted Gaynor, right?” The only thing Knox gives is a short nod. Public record. No use being secretive about that one. “He was found dead this morning. We suspect he was murdered.”

 

His stone-faced demeanor only breaks long enough to allow a surprised uptick of his eyebrows. It’s the boy behind the desk who cries out in surprise.

 

“Mr. Gaynor is dead?” He calls. Felicity spins around to see him. He’s pushed himself up from his seat now, his hands flat on the tabletop to support him as he leans as far as he can across the ledge of the desk. He settles back suddenly and Felicity looks back around to find Knox sending him a look. Dinah hasn’t broken her gaze on Knox, studying him.

 

“We’re just looking for anything you can give us about Mr. Gaynor,” Dinah says. “Did he have any enemies? Anyone that would want to hurt him?”

 

“Besides your department, you mean,” Knox says, narrowing his eyes at her. “We have a lot of high profile clientele, Detective Drake. Money breeds animosity.”

 

Felicity notices the use of Dinah’s name despite her not having introduced herself. Dinah tilts her head at Knox, a slight uptick to one side of her lips in a smirk that contrasts the hardness of her gaze.

 

“I’m sure Blackhawk knows all about that,” she says. “But can you think of any specific clients who may have had a problem with Mr. Gaynor? Something that would have made them angry enough to come after him?”

 

“Mr. Gaynor was well liked by the clients whose money he protected,” Knox insists.

 

“And what about the clients whose money he didn’t protect?” She presses still. A fissure appears in Knox’s unaffected facade and Felicity can see that he’s about to shut them out completely. Before he can, she turns her body halfway towards the elevator she’d been looking at before.

 

“Where does that elevator go?” She asks, pointing towards it. “It’s only accessible with a security card, right? We found one on Mr. Gaynor’s body. Was he the only one with access to the area?”

 

Knox’s gaze narrows in on her, taking her in for the first time since they’d arrived.

 

“You’re not with the department,” he says, not a question, and Felicity doesn’t argue the point. She had a feeling he would make her as someone from outside the department, but she is beginning to wonder if it’s tattooed on her forehead and she hasn’t realized. “Who did you say you were again?”

 

“Agent Smoak,” she says, pulling her badge out of her coat pocket and holding it up for him. His eyes narrow further, scanning over the official seal on her badge before returning to her face.

 

“Agent Smoak is a technical analyst,” Dinah explains, pulling Knox’s attention back to her. “She’s helping us with a specific part of this case.”

 

“Do you think Ted was killed by whoever has been going around killing one percenters?” Knox asks, frowning between them. Felicity considers that, tilting her head at him. “Ted doesn’t exactly fit that type.”

 

“Which is why we’re trying to find out who may have had something against him,” Dinah explains, not answering Knox’s question. Felicity watches the hardened mask fall back into place over his features as he straightens back up.

 

“I can’t give out private information about our clients,” he says dismissively. “If you’d like to speak to me or my employees any further, you’ll have to come back with a warrant.”

 

“Or I could arrest you for obstructing a criminal investigation,” Dinah threatens. Knox’s mouth twists in a dark smirk.

 

“You’ll need a warrant for that, too,” he argues and, yeah, he’s right. Felicity gets the feeling that just the threat is usually enough to scare an average person into talking. Paul Knox doesn’t strike her as average.

 

“Thank you for your time,” Dinah says instead, the words coming out like they physically hurt her. Knox nods and she moves to step around him, but Felicity hesitates. Her stalling earns her another assessing look from Knox.

 

“ _ Your _ employees?” She asks and he seems to know what she’s getting at.

 

“Yes,” he nods. “Now that Mr. Gaynor is dead, the responsibility of ownership falls on my shoulders. And I intend to protect this company.”

 

Felicity studies him for a moment longer before nodding and following after Dinah.

 

\---

 

When they get back to the precinct, Oliver hasn’t returned yet and Dinah goes to brief McKenna on what they’ve learned. Felicity plans to head down to Alena’s office and find out what she’s managed to learn about the bio implant from the little she’s been given. She reaches the basement and goes to open the door when her phone chimes with a notification.

 

She halts in the open doorway, staring down at her phone in surprise. Alena pops up over the monitors and stares at her.

 

“Hey,” she calls gently. “You okay?”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity frowns, tucking the phone away. “I was gonna ask for everything you have on the implant the killer is using, but I sort of just got summoned by the mayor.”

 

“Oh,” Alena says, her eyes going wide at the information. “I can have it all put together for you when you get back. She’s not really someone you want to keep waiting.”

 

Felicity tilts her head, confused at the tone in Alena’s voice. She’d almost call it fear, but that seems like a ridiculous response to have to an elected official. Mayor Adams had seemed so nice when she’d spoken with her over the phone.

 

“Thanks, Alena,” she says, already turning to leave the room she’s just entered. “I’ll be back soon, hopefully.”

 

She manages to requisition an unmarked detective’s car from the station, flashing her badge a little more than she usually would to try and rush the otherwise resistant employees. Even the desk clerks are treating her like a nuisance and the cold shoulder is quickly becoming tiring.

 

City Hall is only a few blocks West of the police department, but Felicity gets caught up in a bought of traffic caused by some construction and tries to rush through the security check-in when she gets to the building. Someone at the front desk still stops her, even after her credentials have been verified by the security at the door.

 

“You’re not in her schedule, sorry,” the girl says after Felicity explains why she’s here. “I’ll have to call in and see if she’s expecting you.”

 

Felicity resists the urge to pull her phone out and show the girl the very official email she’d received twenty minutes ago, instead nodding and telling her to call in. She waits as the girl dials the extension and asks for confirmation from her boss.

 

“Sorry about that,” she says and she sounds genuine so Felicity shakes her head like it isn’t a big deal. “You can go on in.”

 

“Thank you,” Felicity says before hurrying towards the large glass doors. The city seal is emblazoned on them in a shade of white slightly darker than the frosting of the glass and she stops to take a breath, composing herself, before she pushes through the door.

 

“Agent Smoak,” Mayor Adams greets. She’s clearly prepared for her, spinning in her chair so she can stand and come around the desk to greet Felicity. “Thank you for meeting me on such short notice. I wanted to make sure you were settling in well.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Felicity assures her, shaking the woman’s hand as she crosses the room to meet her. Her dark hair is cropped just below her shoulders and styled to perfection, not a hair moving without her permission.

 

“Are you?” Adams presses and Felicity frowns. Is she, what? A problem? She clarifies, “Settling in well.”

 

“Oh,” Felicity interjects, because  _ duh _ . “Yeah! Well, you know, as well as can be expected.”

 

“What do you mean?” She asks, tilting her head in concern. “Everyone at the precinct is being welcoming, aren’t they?”

 

“Well, yes and no,” Felicity shrugs, offering a light smile like it’s nothing. “They’re not impeding the process or anything. My supervisor said I should expect some push back, so I’m sure it’s normal in these cases.”

 

“Oh no,” Adams insists, taking Felicity’s arm gently and leading her towards the couch on the far side of the room. She settles onto it, bringing Felicity with her. “No, they should be appreciative of the help and expertise you’re bringing to the table.”

 

“I’m sure it’s just gonna take some getting used to,” Felicity insists. “Detectives Queen and Drake have been letting me tag along on their investigation and Lieutenant Hall gave me a tour of the precinct to help me get my bearings.”

 

Adams nods, a contemplative look coming over her features as she studies Felicity. She resists the urge to squirm under the scrutiny as the older woman’s eyes narrow at her.

 

“Well, I appreciate you reaching out to offer your help,” she begins slowly. Her fingers are still wrapped around Felicity’s bicep and they tighten slightly as she continues. “It is going to cause a bit of a rift between me and my police force, though, so I need you to do something for me.”

 

“Something like what?” Felicity asks warily, glancing down at the mayor’s fingers gripping her arm.

 

“Just keep an eye on them, won’t you?” She asks, voice too sweet for the sharp look in her dark eyes. “I like to know what my detectives are up to and, lately, I’ve been worried about where their priorities lie.”

 

Felicity blinks a few times, gently removing her arm from Adams grip and standing from the couch.

 

“With all due respect, Mayor Adams, I don’t think that really falls under my duties here,” she says. “I’m just here to help find the person creating chaos in your city.”

 

“Please, Felicity, call me Ruvé,” Adams says, pushing up off of the couch herself. She has a couple inches in height on Felicity, allowing her to look down on her with their closeness. An anxious feeling blooms in Felicity’s chest. “I’m just looking for information on the people I employ. Surely that’s not asking too much, especially since I’ve allowed you to consult on this case. Consider it a trade of favors.”

 

Felicity bites down on the inside of her cheek as Adams aims a sharp smile at her, all teeth, and she gets the very distinct feeling that what she’s asking is not a request. Hoping her nerves don’t show on her face - Felicity always liked to think she had a pretty decent poker face, but maybe her time in Starling will test that theory -, she nods in agreement.

 

“Wonderful,” Adams says, clasping her hands together and stepping around Felicity to head back to her desk. “I won’t keep you any longer, I’m sure you have much work to do.”

 

The dismissal is clear in her voice. Felicity swallows and turns back towards the door. Leaving the office feels a bit like walking to her own doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to try to stick with a Friday upload schedule, but it might not be /every/ Friday. I'm crazy busy this semester and some weeks just get away from me and I have no idea how long I expect this story to be.
> 
> Full disclosure: I'm not going for super accuracy here. I am trying to make it as realistic as possible by pulling from my own knowledge (as a forensics minor) and as much research as I can. But, really, the two intro classes I've taken, books I've read and google can only get you so far on this stuff. So, some suspension of disbelief may be necessary.
> 
> I really hope you all are still interested after this chapter!!


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver visits an old friend and finds the past waiting for him. The team begins to assemble a profile on their killer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sup. So, I know I said I was gonna publish on Fridays but it's 11pm on Thursday here and I got antsy. Enjoy!!

Oliver hesitates in front of the apartment building before him. It looms overhead like a dark shadow, rising up taller than the buildings on either side of it, but no nicer than them. It’s red bricks have turned shades of brown from age in some places, while other corners are sunbleached to a faded pink. This side of town is nice enough, but hardly as nice as the parts Oliver had spent his youth in. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to press the buzzer for the apartment he’s looking to get into it.

 

“How can I help you?” The familiar voice comes over the speaker and Oliver shuffles his feet uncomfortably, raising his hand to press the button for the speaker.

 

“It’s Oliver, John,” he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “We need to talk.”

 

There’s a long, tense moment where he thinks John is going to ignore him and refuse to let him come up. He’s silent up in his apartment, nothing but static crackling from the speaker, before the door buzzes suddenly and the lock clicks out of its setting. Oliver reaches for the handle, tugging the door to the apartment building open and heading inside.

 

John lives on the sixth floor and the building doesn’t have an elevator. It gives Oliver time to prepare himself for the confrontation. He’s surprised John’s even being as receptive as he is to him just showing up. It’s been months since the last time their paths crossed and they had only managed a few passing comments before things took a turn away from civility.

 

His apartment is situated at the end of the hall and Oliver raps his knuckles lightly against the wooden door. The paint is peeling, but otherwise the interior of the hallway seems relatively well kept. Inside the apartment, he can hear the chain lock slide out of place, followed by a deadbolt.

 

“What do you want?” John asks as he pulls the door open, enough for him to be visible, but not enough for Oliver to feel welcomed inside. He stands tense and uncomfortable, clasping his hands behind his back.

 

“It’s official business,” Oliver explains and John nods, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed.

 

“Yeah, I figured as much,” he says. “Not much else you and I would have to talk about, is there?”

 

Oliver sighs. “Can I come in?”

 

John contemplates him for a moment, his eyes narrowing, before he steps back from the door. He pushes it wide, motioning Oliver inside with a movement of his arm that’s only half sarcastic. Oliver figures it’s the best he can hope for.

 

“You served under Ted Gaynor during your first tour, didn’t you?” He asks, once he’s crossed into the apartment. The interior is a soft orange, lit nearly vibrant by the afternoon sun coming through the windows. Art lines the walls and Oliver’s eyes move over them, rather than trying to keep up eye contact with John.

 

“Yeah,” John says, nodding a little. “Yeah, it’s been a while but I know he’s still in Starling. Tried to poach me for his company a few times.” His eyes narrow at Oliver. “Why?”

 

“We found his body this morning,” Oliver explains gently.

 

“Ted’s dead?” John asks, blinking a few times as the information processes. Oliver waits him out. “What happened?”

 

“We’re trying to figure that out,” Oliver admits. “But the department has been investigating Blackhawk for the past few months, so I doubt they’re going to want to give us anything to go off of.”

 

“Which is why you’re here,” John says, nodding with dawning understanding. “Well, I don’t have any dirt on Ted. I haven’t seen him in months, but I know he was a good man while we were serving together.”

 

Oliver nods, prepared to let it go, but John can’t seem to resist getting the dig in.

 

“But I also haven’t always been the best judge of character.”

 

Oliver sucks in a breath, trying to seem unaffected by the blow. It hurts in a different way than Lance’s comments and dirty looks. It’s sharp and unwavering, no matter how much time and distance he manages to put between himself and John Diggle.

 

“I was just hoping you might know whether Ted had any next of kin,” he presses on regardless. “A wife, kids. Anyone we should notify.”

 

“No,” John says, shaking his head. “No, Ted didn’t handle coming home too easily. He didn’t really have anyone to come home to, surrounded himself with his army buddies. Most of Blackhawk’s employees are ex-military. Ted started taking them in once he started up the company.”

 

Oliver nods, already starting for the door once more, eager to leave this conversation behind. He hadn’t wanted John to find out through the news or gossip, knowing he’d looked up to his commanding officer. 

 

“Well, thanks anyway,” he sighs. “I’m sorry about Ted.”

 

“Oliver,” John calls, stopping him as he tugs the apartment door open. “What exactly is your department investigating Blackhawk for? Do you think it had anything to do with Ted ending up dead?”

 

“I can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” Oliver deflects, frowning at John. “Just, do yourself a favor and don’t get tied up with them, alright? They may be ex-military, but that doesn’t mean they’re all good people.”

 

John raises an eyebrow at the advice, but Oliver turns and takes the two extra steps out of the apartment. The door swings shut behind him, clicking into its setting, and he takes a deep breath before heading back down the hall.

 

\---

 

When he gets back to the precinct, he finds Dinah sitting on the corner of her desk with a file in her hands. He recognizes the insignia on it from the M.E.’s office and figures she’s going over the specifics of Schwartz’s report. He lets out a heavy breath and settles into his own desk chair.

 

“You good?” Dinah asks, looking over at him with a raised eyebrow. Oliver nods, leaning back in his chair and letting his drift momentarily shut. He’s been running on a few hours sleep for the past few days and it’s beginning to wear on him. The buzz of wakefulness the shower had given him has worn off after his conversation with John.

 

“Did you manage to get anything from Blackhawk?” He asks, already knowing the answer from the way Dinah’s mouth twists in annoyance.

 

“Just the run around,” she explains. “Gaynor’s second-in-command never intended to tell us anything. Said if we wanted to talk to him or his employees, we’d need a warrant. Called my bluff on obstruction, too.”

 

“Damn,” Oliver bites, knocking his fist against the desk. It’s not hard enough to hurt anything, but it’s a nice, small release of frustration.

 

“Got all squirrely when Agent Smoak asked about his super secret elevator, too,” Dinah goes on, throwing him a look that he thinks means she’s impressed. “She spotted that it was keycard access only. Figured that’s what Gaynor’s card goes to.”

 

“Where is Agent Smoak?” He asks, sitting up and glancing around as if she might be hiding in plain sight. He thinks of the woman and decides that’s probably not possible for her.

 

“Probably downstairs with Gyre,” Dinah shrugs, closing the file up and tossing it onto her desk. “I’m thinking about dinner. Chinese?”

 

Oliver nods, straightening up in his chair and trying to force his mind back into investigative mode. He reaches for the now familiar files of the first two victims and gets them together. He stands and leans between his and Dinah’s desks to snag the autopsy report on Gaynor. Dinah grabs her discarded jacket off the back of her chair and tugs it on.

 

“Text me what you want from that place off Cherry,” she says, zipping the jacket up to her collar.

 

“I’m gonna see if I can find Agent Smoak and grab one of the interview rooms,” Oliver explains, piling the files together on his desk. “When you get back we can go over what we’ve got so far.”

 

“Sounds good,” she nods. “Let me know what Smoak wants, too, when you find her.”

 

Oliver hums in agreement and Dinah heads away from the desks, out of the busy bullpen. He looks down at the small stack of files and sighs as he scoops them up. He’s not sure what Gaynor adds. It feels like they’re in the same place they’ve been since the first victim. No closer to finding the psychopath doing this, further away maybe. He doesn’t want to admit it, but maybe there is something Felicity Smoak can bring to the table that they’ve been lacking so far.

 

He jogs down the stairs to the basement, passing the showers and heading for the technical division. The door is slightly ajar, but he raps lightly on the glass before pushing it open. He doesn’t find Felicity, but Alena does pop her head up at the sound of his entrance.

 

“Detective Queen, hi!” she greets, offering him a bright but nervous smile. He doesn’t know what it is about this poor woman that he manages to put her on edge so easily. Maybe it’s that he usually doesn’t make the trek down to her office in the first place.

 

“Alena, you know you can call me Oliver, right?” He offers tiredly, glancing around the dark office.   There are overhead lights, but they don’t seem to be in use. Instead, the only lights throughout the small room come from the large monitors, giving Alena an unearthly blue glow as she stares at him.

 

“I know I  _ can _ ,” she admits, squinting at him. “But it just feels wrong.”

 

He shakes his head, too drained from his morning to properly handle this conversation. Instead, he decides to steer the conversation onto the topic at hand. Namely the missing FBI agent he’d come down here to find.

 

“Have you seen Agent Smoak?” He asks. “I need to catch her up on the first two victims.”

 

“Oh, is she not back yet?” Alena asks and Oliver’s blank stare must be enough of an answer. “She had to go meet with the mayor about something. She said she’d be back as soon as she could.” Her eyes widen slightly as she remembers something. “Actually, she asked me to put together a file with everything I knew about the device being used to shock your victims. Do you want to hold on to it for when she gets back?”

 

She picks the folder up and holds it out to him. Oliver takes it from her, frowning at her words. She’s jumped between topics so quickly, he hadn’t had the opportunity to ask what exactly Felicity would need to be meeting with Mayor Adams about. He figures Alena probably wouldn’t have that answer for him anyway.

 

“Thank you,” he says distractedly, adding the file to the rest of his pile and turning to leave. He tugs the door shut behind him and heads back for the stairs. As he turns the corner and passes back by the locker room, he nearly slams right into Felicity herself.

 

“Oh, my God,” she startles, swaying on her feet as she catches herself at the last minute from ending up walking right into his chest. Oliver reaches out on instinct with his free hand, wrapping his fingers around her bicep in an attempt to steady her.

 

She starts speaking so quickly it’s almost hard to keep up, “I’m sorry, I should be paying more attention to where I’m going. Unfamiliar environment and all that. I mean, not totally unfamiliar. I actually have a really good memory, so after Lieutenant Hall showed me around this morning, it’s been pretty easy for me to get around, so I… am gonna stop talking now.”

 

She’s frowning at herself, the apples of her cheeks going a little pink as her words die in her mouth, but Oliver finds himself unable to keep from smiling a little in bewilderment at her. Until he notices how tense she is, the way she’s almost folded into herself, with her arms wrapped over her chest. It’s a contrast to the woman he’d seen this morning, reminding Captain Lance exactly who had authority in their encounter.

 

“Hey, are you okay?” He asks softly, his thumb moving over the material of her jacket in a soothing, subconscious motion.

 

“Why?” She asks, rather than answering him. She looks startled by the question.

 

“You just look,” he starts, searching her face and tries to find the appropriate word. Finally, he goes with, “Shaken.”

 

Her mouth opens and he can see her struggle for words. Ironic, considering the amount she’d managed to use just a moment ago. Eventually, her eyes land instead on the files in his other hand and she points to them.

 

“Did you just come from Alena?” She asks. “Are one of those for me?”

 

“They all are, actually,” Oliver explains, letting his hand fall away from her arm as he lifts the files for her to see. “I was thinking we should catch you up on the previous victims. Dinah went to get food for us and we’re gonna use one of the empty interrogation rooms to go over the case.”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity nods, taking the files from them. The one from Alena is on top and she flips it open first, eyes scanning over the pages within. “Yeah, that sounds good. Put me down for shrimp lo mein.”

 

She spins around to head back for the stairs and Oliver intends to follow her, but she stops suddenly and turns back to him.

 

“Oh, can you ask her to make sure they don’t use anything with peanut oil or whatever?” She asks, pouting a little. Oliver raises an eyebrow at her and she explains, “I’m allergic to nuts.”

 

He nods and she offers him a bright smile before turning back and moving for the stairs. He watches her go for a moment, tilting his head at her retreating form, before he pulls his phone out to text Dinah about the specific request.

 

\---

 

“So, let’s talk about Ted Gaynor,” Felicity says once they’ve gone over the particulars of the first two victims. It seems like it may have been unnecessary, her knowledge on the case already exceeding Oliver’s expectations. He remembers that she’d mentioned having read all of his reports.

 

“What about him?” Dinah asks, stabbing at the carton of pot stickers with her plastic fork. Felicity eats her own food with a pair of chopsticks, held delicately and purposefully between her fingers, like she’d learned it from reading extensively about the proper way to use the utensils. Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if that’s exactly what she did.

 

“Something Knox said got me thinking,” she explains, sticking the wooden chopsticks into her container of noodles and setting it aside. She reaches for the file on Gaynor, full of the information they’d managed to gather on the man. With his job in personal security, most of his life is secretive, but Felicity managed to build a file on him from some time with a department laptop.

 

“Knox mentioned that the killer seemed to be focusing on one percenters, right?” She asks, not waiting for confirmation as she continues flipping through the file. She lifts one of her thumbs to her mouth, licking some leftover sauce off of the pad of it. Oliver looks down at the file nearest him instead of her. “Gaynor doesn’t really fit that profile. I mean, sure he had some money from Blackhawk, but he was hardly at the level of, like, Adam Hunt.”

 

“It’s hard to know that for sure,” Oliver argues, looking back over at her. “We don’t know how much he could have stashed away from funneling money out of the company.”

 

“Okay, fair,” she admits, but he can see the wheels are still turning as she contemplates Gaynor’s file. “So, let’s put it this way, from the outside Gaynor is basically a blue collar guy who built a modestly successful security company from the ground up. Why would this killer target him?”

 

“Unless it’s not about economic status,” Dinah shrugs, setting her own food aside to reach for Hunts file. “But, then, what is it about?”

 

The interrogation room they’ve settled into goes quiet as the three of them consider the three victims they have to go off of. They hadn’t officially declared the profile off of the first two, but Oliver had been assuming it had something to do with money. Starling’s known for the deep divide between the upper and lower class, with an almost non-existent middle between them.

 

But Hunt, Fuller, Gaynor. They weren’t just business men with a solid amount of money to line their pockets. They each had dirt on their hands from the methods they’d used to assure they stayed at their place on the economic ladder.

 

“What if it’s not about how much money they had?” he considers aloud, staring down at the photo of Max Fuller attached to his own file. It’s not the autopsy photo, but a headshot from one of his media appearances. He’d known Fuller almost a lifetime ago, but it had been years since he’d interacted with the man.  Rich kids tended to flock together, but Oliver isn’t a rich kid anymore. He goes on, “What if it’s about how they got it?”

 

He has the attention of the room now. Felicity has flipped Gaynor’s file closed, leaning towards him across the metal table just a touch. He frowns, making the dots connect as he forms an idea of a profile.

 

Oliver tries to explain what he’s thinking, “Hunt was known for his ruthless business tactics, bullying and bribing his way through people who disagree with him. Fuller kept his club packed by keeping it a drug friendly environment.”

 

“And Gaynor’s whole company is under investigation for stealing money from their clients,” Felicity adds, seeing where he’s going. He nods and looks over to Dinah, who pushes out of her chair.

 

“What do you think the chances are a judge will grant me a warrant to search Blackhawk?” She asks, crossing her arms over her chest. Oliver shrugs.

 

“Worth a shot,” he admits. “Put a proposal together and see what you can do. Strong arming Blackhawk personnel isn’t going to work.”

 

Dinah nods in agreement. “I’ll talk to McKenna.”

 

She leaves her food discarded on the table and Oliver looks back to Felicity. She watches Dinah leave, the door to the room shutting behind his partner, before her eyes move back to him. She leans back in her chair a bit, her hands disappearing under the table to rest in her lap. The vibrant shade of her lipstick has rubbed off, leaving a shine in places where oil from the food sticks to her lips.

 

“So, we have a profile,” she comments and he nods.

 

“Yeah, corrupt businessmen,” he sighs, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the metal table, linking his fingers together in front of him. “Unfortunately, Starling City isn’t lacking in that area.”

 

“Fuller’s club really pedals drugs?” She asks. Off his nod, she presses, “And they just get away with it?”

 

“We’ve raided a couple times,” Oliver admits. “But by the time we get the appropriate paperwork and task force together, they know we’re coming. It’s called Poison, but it’s nicknamed Acid for… obvious uncreative reasons.”

 

“And yet there’s nothing your department has been able to do?” Felicity presses, frowning to herself. Oliver raises an eyebrow at her and she blanches, rushing on, “That wasn’t meant as an indictment of your department. I just meant-”

 

“I know,” he nods in understanding, sighing. “Kind of makes you want to question the system.”

 

A wrinkle appears between her brows as she looks down at her hands in her lap. He gets the feeling he’s lost her attention to whatever is going on inside her mind. It’s a feeling he’s familiar with, a muddled and busy mind. He waits her out.

 

Suddenly, she sits up straighter and leans across the table so far her hands nearly reach his. She drops her voice, whispering her question conspiratorially.

 

“They always know when you’re coming?” She asks and he nods. “Have you ever considered-”

 

He cuts her off with a sharp look before she can finish the question. Not because it isn’t a thought he’s had before, something he’s been working on privately in his very limited freetime. He’s not an idiot. There are only so many way a person can be aware of the SCPD’s moves before they make them, every time. Fuller always managed to be one step ahead of them.

 

“Felicity,” he says quietly, trying to convey his seriousness. “Be careful what questions you ask and where you ask them.”

 

She seems startled by the statement, her bright eyes widening slightly and her cheeks paling a touch. Realization takes over quickly and she sits back in her chair, straighter than before, her shoulders tight. She pushes Gaynor’s file back towards the middle of the table.

 

“Thanks for including me in this,” she says, the tightness of her voice betrays the casualness she’s aiming for. Oliver watches her cautiously. “I’m gonna see if Dr. Schwartz will let me take a crack at the device and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

 

He nods as she pushes herself up from her chair, gathering the file Alena had made for her, and rounding the table to hurry from the room. Oliver moves to clean up the leftover food.

 

\---

 

With Dinah working alongside McKenna on the proposal for the judge and Felicity headed back to the Medical Examiner’s office to work on the tech side of things, Oliver decides it’s reasonable for him to go home and try to force some sleep on himself. He can practically hear his sister’s voice in the back of his head, scolding him for not taking better care of himself as he drives to his apartment.

 

At least he had eaten something today. Which he can’t always say is the case, unless someone in the precinct buys food or mentions ordering in. It’s not always this bad, just when he gets too wrapped up in a case. It’s easier, he thinks, than actually dealing with his own world. Or that’s what Thea would say, probably. He buries himself in cases to avoid getting his own house in order.

 

He wouldn’t even argue the point. No point putting your weight behind something even you know to be untrue.

 

That doesn’t mean he’s willing to work on changing himself, though. There’s a reason his coping mechanisms are what they are, it’s better than trying to face it all. The trauma, the pain, the reality of the dark and empty world they woke up in years ago. Thea keeps some of her own light, her own optimism, but she’s jaded, too. She just hides it better than he’s ever managed to.

 

When the elevator in his apartment building reaches his floor, he stalls. Momentarily, he considers that maybe his tired mind and it’s sudden fixation on the darkness in his life has manifested into a mirage, a ghost sent to haunt him in the form of the ominous figure standing in front of his apartment door. It shifts, turning at the sound of the elevator, and the light from the ceiling illuminates it. Warm, yellow light replaces the shadows and Oliver lets out a heavy sigh.

 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, not unkindly, but not entirely surprised either. John is as tense as he’d been this morning, something Oliver thinks he brings out in the other man. They’d been friends once, brothers in arms. There’s a time he would have taken a bullet to the chest for John Diggle.

 

He figures he still would, even if the sentiment is one sided.

 

“I have a few questions for you,” John explains as he watches Oliver come nearer. He slides his key into the lock on the door and pauses, contemplating whether he’d left the apartment a mess or not. It should be pretty tidy, considering he barely makes it home for more than a few hours sleep lately. He turns the key, pushing the door open.

 

“Okay,” he says quietly, waving John into the apartment.

 

As he steps over the threshold, Oliver hits the lightswitch near the door and bathes the dark apartment in light. It’s obvious, he realizes belatedly, that he’d spent the morning sleeping on the couch in the middle of the room. If John notices, he doesn’t comment, standing uncomfortably in the middle of the living room. Oliver thinks of his mother and how she always offered guests sparkling water or a glass of wine when they showed up at the house. Something tells him neither is what John’s come here for.

 

“I still can’t talk about an ongoing investigation,” he offers, having a pretty good feeling where this is going. John Diggle is a good man. A loyal soldier who believes in the people he’s enlisted with. Or, he was. Maybe Oliver doesn’t know what kind of man he is. Except, the fundamentals of people, those don’t change. Hasn’t that always been his own downfall?

 

“Oliver, man, if Ted was involved in something that got him killed, I need to know what it was,” he insists, taking a step towards Oliver as he tries to convince him.

 

“If it’s what got him killed, we’re going to figure it out,” Oliver says, trying to remain neutral in the face of John’s emotional response. “You have to trust the process.”

 

John scoffs at that and Oliver can’t blame him. It’s a trite phrase for a man who’s lived in this city his whole life. John had known the seedy, underhanded parts of this town long before Oliver had decided to step inside and make the darkness his home. He thinks about his conversation with Felicity, how she’d questioned a system that would let a man like Max Fuller prosper.

 

Maybe John’s right not to trust the department.

 

“Trust  _ me _ then,” he tries instead, just as useless as his last plea from the dark look John shoots him. “Or, at least, trust that I’m not going to let whoever did this get away with it. You know me well enough to know that, I think.”

 

John studies him for a moment, before he shakes his head. “Yeah, I thought I did.”

 

He turns to leave and Oliver sighs, tired of the blows from today. He’d be more angry at the lack of understanding, the continued beat down for the various men he used to be, except he can’t really say he’s tried much to be better. Different, maybe, but better?

 

John moves past Oliver to reach the door and he spins to follow his movement.

 

“Dig,” he calls out, the old nickname falling like a plea to the comradery they used to share. John hesitates, his hand on the door knob as his shoulders go tense once more. “I’m asking you, as a friend, not to get involved in this.”

 

He turns the door knob, pulling the door open and revealing the carpeted hallway beyond it. Before he leaves, he turns back to Oliver. One last blow before he pulls the door shut behind him.

 

“We’re not friends, Oliver.”

 

\---

 

Oliver tries to get some sleep. He does the whole routine of it; gets undressed, takes a shower, climbs into his bed rather than settling onto the couch. But it doesn’t really take. All he manages to do is lay there in the dark, eyes closed and searching for the elusive unconscious state he’s been longing for all day.

 

The encounter with John, coupled with his conversation with Felicity earlier, weighs on his mind. It keeps him from being able to clear his head long enough to fall asleep. So, inevitably, he gives up. Pulling himself from the bed, he flips on the bedside lamp and digs through the closet for the box he knows is stashed towards the back.

 

The cardboard catches under his fingers and he pulls, revealing the brown box from behind his hanging suit jackets. Its light enough, the only really heft of it is the underutilized laptop within. Oliver’s never been much of a tech guy, but the laptop serves a singular purpose. One that requires it to be free of any of the city or departmental servers.

 

He sets it out on the coffee table with the box and the rest of its contents next to it. It takes a few moments to boot, having been a while since he’d last pulled it out of the cold closet, and Oliver moves to the kitchen for a glass of water while he waits.

 

The laptop is a cheap, thin thing he’d bought on a whim with one of the first paychecks he’d gotten after his promotion two years ago. A whim brought on by the third time Poison, Max Fuller’s club, had slipped through the Vice squad’s fingers. He’d listened to McKenna complain about how Fuller always managed to be one step ahead of them, still keeping an eye on her old division even after moving over to Homicide.

 

He logs into the laptop and a secondary encryption screen pops up. He’d decided it was probably a necessary measure when it became clear that he was actually going to begin investigating his own department. Felicity hadn’t been far off with her questions today. People like Fuller can buy whoever they want. Oliver knows because he had been a person like Fuller. He’d watched his father charm and buy his way into whatever he wanted.

 

The computer finishes its boot cycle through the encryption and pulls up to a dark desktop with a handful of icons on it. Oliver sighs, leaning forward onto his knees to stare at the screen. The reason he hasn’t touched it recently is because there hasn’t been anything to add to it, nothing to discern. For all of his secret investigating, he hasn’t managed to figure out where the leak is coming from.

 

He knows it exists, but he can’t pin it down.

 

The rest of the files in the box are as useless as the ones on the computer. Hard copies, for security, but ultimately meaningless. He’s spent nights tailing his fellow officers, focusing on everyone from patrol to internal affairs, but it’s been nothing but dead ends. The people in his department, they aren’t bad people. They get off work, they go home to their families if they have them. Others sate themselves with legal vices - they go to a bar or they buy a handful of lottery tickets. If they’re engaged in seedy behavior, they’re better at hiding it than he’d hoped.

 

He lets out a quiet noise in frustration, something like a growl from within his chest, and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. For all his lack of sleep, there’s nothing he can do here. He slams the cover of the laptop closed, a little more forcefully than he really intends, and glances towards the kitchen. The microwave there displays the time in bright green lines and dots.  **11:43.**

 

Sighing, Oliver reaches for one of the files anyway and leans back into the couch.

 

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he must at some point, because he wakes to the sound of his phone trilling from the coffee table. The files is spread across his lap and he tidies it with one hand as he reaches for his phone.

 

“Hello?” He answers, trying to sound moderately awake.

 

“Detective Queen, sorry to wake you,” the voice on the other end greets and he doesn’t immediately recognize it. “It’s Officer Walsh. I’m on the night shift and we got a call about a trespasser at Blackhawk Squad Security Group. Dispatch mentioned it might be related to a case you’re working on.”

 

“Yeah,” he nods, scrubbing his hand over his face and trying to let the words settle into his groggy mind. He glances towards the kitchen and spots the display on the microwave.  **3:36** . At least he’d gotten some sleep. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be right down.”

 

He almost leaves the apartment without changing, but ultimately decides if he has to pull a shirt on anyway he might as well trade his sweatpants for a pair of jeans. It’s the best he’s going to manage this morning, though, already rushing to try and get to the station as quickly as he can.

 

Traffic is slow at this time of night, the bars settling for the morning, and he makes good time. Dispatch points him towards one of the interrogation rooms and he finds that, despite his hurry, he’s still managed to arrive after both Dinah and Felicity. He spots his partner down the hall from the interrogation room, talking with who he assumes to be the arresting officer.

 

“Hey,” he greets quietly, stepping over to Felicity. “Have they told you what’s going on?”

 

She glances sideways at him, but she’s studying Dinah’s interaction with the officer across the room. It gives Oliver the opportunity to study her. She has one arm wrapped over her midsection, her fingers cupping the elbow of her opposite arm. Her fingers are pressed to her mouth, bright pink nails standing out against her pale skin. Her arm hides the full logo for some kind of laboratory on her sweater and from her dressed down state he figures she’d been pulled from sleep the same as him. Her hair is loose around her shoulders, waved with a natural curl he wouldn’t have suspected.

 

“Just that some guy was skulking around Blackhawk’s warehouse,” she says, turning her body to face him once Dinah’s conversation ceases to hold her attention. Her thumb strokes her lower lip anxiously even as she talks. “A neighbor or something must have seen him and called 911. It wasn’t someone from Blackhawk.”

 

Oliver frowns, a bad feeling settling over him as he considers what he knows. It hadn’t occurred to him before, mind still heavy with sleep, but now… He looks over to where Dinah is finishing up her conversation with Officer Walsh. She turns and meets his eyes, the dark and accusatory look on her face confirms his suspicions.

 

She takes a file from Walsh before the officer heads away and Dinah moves to meet him and Felicity. She holds the file out towards him.

 

“You need to handle this,” she says, a little harsher than he thinks he’s warranted. It’s not his fault, really. He would have found out one way or another. Still, he flips the file open his hands and lets out a quiet curse at the photocopied ID paperclipped into the vanilla folder.

 

“I’ve got it,” he bites, moving for the interrogation room. He doesn’t need to look back to know that Dinah and Felicity will have gone for the room on the other side of the mirror. The man at the table doesn’t even look up as Oliver enters.

 

“Three times in twenty-four hours,” John comments, a dark humor to his tone that Oliver doubts anyone would buy. “It’s almost like old times.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> follow me places?  
> twitter: [@fellicityqueen](http://twitter.com/fellicityqueen)  
> tumblr: [fellicityqueen](http://fellicityqueen.tumblr.com)
> 
> i really am wondering what people are thinking of this so far, so even a comment telling me what you're thinking, what's working for you and all that can go a pretty far way. thanks everyone for reading!!


	4. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity finds herself at odds with Oliver and frustrated by the secrets of Starling's residents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first off, I just want to let you all know that I am LIVING for your comments!! I love seeing your theories and, while I'm trying to keep myself two chapters ahead, it's nice knowing what your questions are. Sometimes, when I can tell I haven't explained something well enough, rather than responding to questions in comments, I add a better explanation of it in a future chapter. So, just a heads up that I love your theories and comments and questions and just gah thank you all!!!
> 
> I really hope you guys are still enjoying this! I'm trying to get the plot ironed out to the point that I can figure out how many chapters it will be. In the meantime, enjoy the chapter!

Felicity regrets running out of the interrogation room, away from Oliver and their conversation, the way she had. Mostly because it was unprofessional. But, also, because the little voice in the back of her mind, the one she’s been fighting with since college and sounds disturbingly like her ex-boyfriend, tells her she’d let him win. Pride. That’s what it really boils down to. Running away had been a blow to her pride.

 

Not that he hadn’t given her a reason to run. It strikes her that it might have been his intention, actually. Scare her off. Except they’d been working together so well right before the conversation. She thinks about what he’d said, how he’d leaned forward and met her eyes, the blue of his dark in their seriousness.

 

“ _ Be careful what questions you ask and where you ask them _ ,” he’d said.

 

And, he was right, wasn’t he? With the mayor breathing down her neck and a police department full of people who don’t trust her yet, she should have known better than to sit there and insinuate things like corruption and leaks. She doesn’t think Oliver had been trying to intimidate her, she thinks he’d been trying to warn her.

 

She sighs, sitting back from the magnifying glass she’s peering through and rubbing her eyes with the pads of her fingers. Schwartz had given her the device she’d pulled out of Gaynor and set her up in an empty exam room to break it apart and try to discern its secrets.

 

So far, all she’s got is that the device doesn’t just fry its victim, but the shock it produces completely destroys its own internal wiring as well. Sitting back on the hard, metal stool she’s taken over, Felicity reaches for her glasses and slides them back on. The building is quiet aside from the low humming from the fluorescent lights overhead. She’s been in the exam room for so long, the sound barely registers anymore.

 

Almost hesitantly, she reaches for her phone, a little afraid to find out how late it’s become.  **12:47.** She groans down at the display. This is her problem, she gets so wrapped up that she loses track of everything else. The tech in front of her, broken down into miniscule bits of metal, plastic, and wires, has told her nothing for the hours she’s spent pulling it apart.

 

“Fuck,” she sighs, lifting her free hand to her forehead and pressing the pads of her fingers against the space between her brows. Her phone begins to ring suddenly, too loud in the quiet building as it vibrates against her palm. She fumbles a bit, swiping her thumb across the screen twice before it answers the call, and Agent Watson is speaking before Felicity even has a chance to.

 

“Agent Smoak,” Watson greets, her familiar hard tone a strange comfort now that Felicity has found herself in this unfamiliar and unwelcoming town. “I know it’s late on your side of the country, but I wanted to see how you were settling in.”

 

“Good,” Felicity lies, not wanting to give Watson the satisfaction of being right about the department’s reaction to her. “Yeah, it’s good. I’m just, uh, working on the tech element of the case right now, actually.”

 

Watson hums in a way that lets Felicity know her lie has been a waste. Her superior agent has seen right through her.

 

“Have you made any more progress on the specifics of the case?” Watson asks anyway, letting Felicity’s lie go.

 

“We developed a profile,” she tells her. “Or, you know, the start of one. The detectives on the case are working on that angle while I put my experience to use with the murder weapon.”

 

“Alright,” Watson says slowly, considering the information. “Well, it’s late here, which means it’s even later there. Get some sleep and keep me updated on how things are going.”

 

Felicity agrees and Watson hangs up without much of a farewell. She’s used to it by now, the brusqueness of the woman. She had tried to take it personally, back when she’d signed on with Watson, but had eventually learned it was just Samandra’s way. There’s something there that Felicity respects, she supposes.

 

Looking back down at the device in front of her, Felicity decides to take Watson’s advice to heart and slides off of the stool. Her skirt catches on the metal and she smooths it out as she steps back into her discarded heels. There’s nothing more she can get done with the device tonight, but tomorrow she’ll bring some of her own equipment and see what she can find.

 

She takes a car service back to her hotel. It’s situated in the center of downtown, a few blocks away from the police station and City Hall. Tall, glass adorned buildings rise towards the sky around it, most stamped at the top with one company logo or another. The divide between this and the areas of the city she’d seen on her drive from the airport isn’t lost on her. There’s more to Starling City than multi billion dollar companies and the glistening architecture they bring with them.

 

More, perhaps, than Mayor Adams wants anyone outside of it to know.

 

Inside her hotel room, she begins to let herself relax more than she’s managed all day. She slips out of her form fitting skirt and the striped top, trading them for the old, familiar S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt she’d been sent as a gift when the company had tried to poach her. Pulling the band from her hair, releasing the tension at her scalp, is almost euphoric.

 

The hotel comforter is scratchy and stiff, but the sheets are soft and inviting. It makes falling asleep almost instantaneous, even in this unfamiliar environment. It’s usually a feat for her to fall asleep in a new place, but the exhaustion of her day has become almost overwhelming and she succumbs to unconsciousness easily once her body begins to relax.

 

And, of course, it feels like she’s only been asleep for a few minutes when her phone begins to ring loudly on the nightstand and pulls her from her slumber. She checks the time before she answers and, hey, at least she’d managed a few hours.

 

\---

 

Oliver makes his way over to her when he arrives, probably because his partner is currently tied up with Officer Walsh who had made the arrest. Felicity very pointedly does not chew on her thumb nail as she watches Dinah talk to Walsh. She can feel Oliver studying her, but only spares him a sidelong glance as he greets her, her focus on trying to read Walsh’s lips as she talks to Dinah. So far, not working.

 

“Have they told you what’s going on?” He asks, which is a little ridiculous in her opinion. She’s surprised they’d even called her about this, since getting information out of anyone in this precinct is like pulling teeth. She wonders what exactly the mayor expects her to be able to tell her.

 

The reminder of the conversation makes something in her stomach tighten with anxiety, with confusion. With fear. She turns to Oliver, hoping the torment in her mind doesn’t show on her face. 

 

“Just that some guy was skulking around Blackhawk’s warehouse,” she answers, her arm still wrapped over her body tightening its grip, as if she can hold herself together by sheer force of will alone. Oliver’s blue gaze is fixed on her and her fingers near her mouth fidget nervously, her thumb stroking the line of her lower lip as she relays the information she had been given. “A neighbor or something must have seen him and called 911. It wasn’t someone from Blackhawk.”

 

Oliver’s neutral expression turns dark, a frown turning the corners of his lips downward as a crease forms in his brow. This time, Felicity studies him instead. There are shadows under his eyes, but he’s had them all day. He’s in civvies; jeans and a light grey sweater that contrasts his tanned complexion. She wonders if he’d been sleeping, when they got the call. Traitorously, her mind wonders if he’d been doing so alone.

 

Dinah rejoins them, blessedly pulling Felicity from that terrible, terrible turn her mind had taken. Yes, Detective Queen is conventionally attractive. One might even say gorgeous. Okay, yeah, Felicity would, objectively, say gorgeous. But developing any sort of school girl crush on the grumpy, one may even say downright rude, detective who just wants her off his case? A very, very bad impression to leave behind when she leaves at the end of this.

 

“You need to handle this,” Dinah says harshly, shoving the file she’d been given into Oliver’s hands. He doesn’t seem surprised as he flips the file open, letting out a quiet, resigned curse. Felicity raises her eyebrows, looking between them, but neither of them seem to remember she’s there. Another strike for the crack detective team.

 

God, she wishes she’d stayed in bed.

 

“I’ve got it,” Oliver bites, stepping between her and Dinah to head right for the interrogation room. Felicity doesn’t wait to be led, instead taking the initiative to move for the adjoined room, connected by the two-way glass in the interrogation room.

 

The man is handcuffed to the metal table where they’d all eaten dinner and pretended to be a cohesive team a few hours earlier. He has close cropped hair and a dark complexion. Even from his seated position and the heavy jacket he wears, Felicity can see the muscles that define him. His arms look bowling balls, but somehow she doesn’t think he’s really a threat.

 

“Three times in twenty-four hours,” he comments, a little smugly, as he looks up at Oliver. Felicity frowns at the glass in front of her, knowing she’s still missing so much of the story. “It’s almost like old times.”

 

“Dammit,” Oliver huffs, tossing the incident report down on the table in front of the man. “I told you to leave this alone!”

 

Felicity frowns, looking over at Dinah watching the same conversation through the glass in front of them.

 

“Explain,” she says, more a confused request than an order. Although, she realizes it could be an order, considering she technically outranks everyone in this building. Better not to pull that card, she thinks.

 

“John Diggle,” Dinah offers in a low voice, just as transfixed by the conversation happening on the other side of the glass as Felicity is. “He and Oliver served together.”

 

“Military?” Felicity asks. Diggle and Oliver continue to glare each other down, neither saying anything to further the conversation.

 

“Army,” Dinah confirms. Felicity doesn’t press further, mostly because Oliver has moved in the other room, sliding into the chair across from Diggle. But, also, because she gets the sense Dinah doesn’t know much more about it. Maybe Felicity isn’t the only one to whom Oliver Queen remains a mystery.

 

“Blackhawk is not something to mess around with,” Oliver says in an annoyed growl. “You’re lucky it was one of my guys who picked you up.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Diggle remarks sarcastically, jiggling the chain that has him locked to the metal table. “Really appreciating the warm welcome.”

 

“You were trespassing on private property,” Oliver reminds him. “Someone called in a tip, it’s not like I had you followed.”

 

“Your guys stop every black man they see walking around the city?” Diggle asks, clearly uninterested in the direction Oliver is trying to steer the conversation. He leans forward a little. “Or just the really suspicious looking ones?”

 

Oliver reaches up, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Felicity leans towards the glass a little, interested to see how he handles the accusation being tossed his way, especially after their conversation the previous evening. Diggle doesn’t seem that committed to the jab, sitting back in his chair and bouncing one of his legs.

 

“Look, John, I know you want to know what happened to your friend,” Oliver begins slowly, his voice evening out into a more soothing, empathetic tone. “But sneaking around, getting arrested for trespassing on Blackhawk property isn’t the way to do it.”

 

“Then, what is, man?” Diggle asks, lifting his hands as far as the handcuffs will let him in exasperation. “Huh? Trusting your department, trusting  _ you _ ? I’ve been here before, Oliver!”

 

“This is not the same,” Oliver says. His tone is still even, but Felicity can see the tenseness in his shoulders, the deliberate way he’s holding himself together. “You don’t want to trust me? That’s fine. But trying to do it this way isn’t going to get justice for Ted. It’s only gonna put you right next to him in the morgue.”

 

He stands suddenly, the end of the conversation clear in his movements. He reaches towards Diggle, pulling the handcuff key from the file Dinah had handed him and unlocking the restraints. Diggle lifts his hands free, rubbing his wrist against the chaffing from the metal.

 

“Blackhawk isn’t pressing charges,  _ this time _ , so an officer will be in to walk you through discharge and you’ll be free to go,” Oliver tells him, straightening once the handcuffs have come loose and moving for the door. He stops, one hand on the doorknob, but doesn’t turn back to the man at the table. “I know what you think of me now, John, but I would really appreciate it if the next body I get called to isn’t yours.”

 

Oliver doesn’t wait for Diggle to respond and he doesn’t wait for her and Dinah to come out of their side of the interrogation room. When Felicity opens the door to follow him out, all she catches is his speedy retreat.

 

“Does he do that often?” She asks, looking back around to find Dinah watching Oliver trace a quick path out of the bullpen. The look she receives in return is enough of an answer.

 

“Go get some sleep,” Dinah suggests, covering her own yawn as she does. “We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

 

When she walks off with any further conversation, too, Felicity begins to suspect it’s a Starling City thing.

 

\---

 

She’s the first to return to the station at a more manageable hour the next morning. Not the  _ first _ -first, obviously. There are tons of officers running around, working on whatever cases they have to deal with. The Captain’s door is closed, but there’s light coming from underneath so Felicity assumes he’s in as well. She hasn’t interacted with the man since their introduction the day before and she’s really quite fine keeping it that way for now.

 

Unsure what to really do with herself, she ends up standing awkwardly at the edge of where Oliver and Dinah’s desks meet. There’s an uncomfortable looking plastic chair, for witnesses or perps, next to each of their desks, but she’s too fidgety to take a seat.

 

After the incident last night, she’d gone back to her hotel and something - probably the sweatshirt she’d pulled from her suitcase - had given her the idea to reach out to Cisco Ramon. S.T.A.R. Labs may not have ended up being able to poach her, but she’s retained her contacts there. Felicity knows tech incredibly well. She’s been taking things apart and putting them back together since she was seven-years-old. But, what she’s looking at in the implant requires a consult. If Cisco doesn’t have any insight for her, she really is on her own on this one.

 

It’s a quarter past nine when Oliver shows up. Felicity’s been standing next to his desk for almost a half hour, scrolling through her phone and trying to appear busy. He moves by her, a cardboard cup full of fragrant coffee in his hand, and stands at the corner of his desk. He sets the coffee down as he removes his coat and she stares down at it enviously.

 

“It’s black,” he says, startling her. Felicity looks up at him, a confused crease in her brow. “The coffee.”

 

She can tell from the smell alone, heavy and strong. He’s probably warning her because he assumes she likes lots of sugar and cream and, preferably, flavoring in her coffees. And he’s right, damn him, but he’s staring at her and it feels like a challenge.

 

Reaching forward, aware of his eyes on her, Felicity picks the cup up and takes a deep swig from it. The bitterness almost makes her flinch, but she keeps her composure. When she holds it out for him to take back, his eyes are on the bright red mark left behind from her lipstick, the matte not fully dried just yet.

 

His eyes meet hers again and she feels, quite suddenly and with a small amount of fear, that she’s just begun a game of chicken she’s not sure she’ll be able to finish.

 

Oliver opens his mouth, to say something or do something, the coffee cup in his hand steady even as she clasps her own behind her back to hide her nervousness. What had she just been thinking last night about not developing a crush on a local detective? He leans forward, just a touch, and her chest tightens as she holds her breath, ready for whatever retort he has for her.

 

“Queen,” someone shouts and Felicity startles backwards a step, not having realized she’d leaned towards him as well. Oliver tenses, his eyes squeezing shut for the briefest moment at the voice behind him. Felicity looks past him to where the Captain is standing in the doorway of his office.

 

“Get in here,” Lance barks. “Now!”

 

Oliver’s eyes open and meet hers once again, quickly, but something she sees there makes her want to cling to him. His fingers tighten around his coffee cup, but he holds it out to her. A white flag for whatever they had started a moment ago. She accepts it, but follows after him as he turns and heads for Lance’s office.

 

The Captain has already returned to his desk and looks up at the sound of the door closing behind her. His eyebrows raise in surprise at her appearance in the room, but he doesn’t comment. Instead, his interest moves to Oliver and the confusion is replaced by something darker.

 

“I heard John Diggle got hauled in for trespassing last night,” he says.

 

“Yes, sir,” Oliver nods, his hands stuffed in his pockets now. His coffee is warm against the palm of her hand even through the protective sleeve. “He was poking around Blackhawk’s warehouse, but they decided not to press charges so we let him go.”

 

“We just cut him loose?” Lance presses, tossing his head almost sarcastically. Felicity frowns at the movement.

 

“We didn’t have anything to hold him on,” Oliver explain slowly. “Not to mention-”

 

“He was caught skulking around one of our victims’ place of employment,” Lance says, cutting him off. “That’s at least reason for suspicion, I’d say. A question into Mr. Diggle’s relationship with our victim and his alibi for the night he was killed.”

 

“John didn’t have anything to do with Gaynor’s death,” Oliver insists, a little tiredly, but it earns a sharp look from Lance. 

 

The Captain pushes himself out of his chair, his hands flat on the desk in front of him. He’s glaring daggers at Oliver, who stands rigid under the attention, and Felicity wonders if either of them even remember she’s in the room.

 

“I don’t care if he is your  _ BFF _ ,” Lance spits, “he’s just bumped himself up to top suspect and I expect you to treat this the way you would any other suspicious activity surrounding one of your victims.”

 

The room goes quiet with tension and Felicity looks over at Oliver. His jaw works, like he’s fighting back whatever comment he’d really like to make. She gets a bad feeling that if he has his way, he’ll be jobless faster than she can say ‘fired’. Sidestepping a little towards Oliver, Felicity gains Lance’s attention.

 

“I’ll have your technical division keep an eye on Mr. Diggle’s movements,” she assures him, offering a tight smile. His gaze doesn’t grow any lighter, but the glare lessens as he nods.

 

“Good,” he says, dropping back into the chair. “Do that.”

 

Felicity narrows her eyes at him, tempted to remind him that she doesn’t technically need his approval or his permission, but the dismissal is clear from the way he seems to have forgotten they’re even standing there. His attention has returned to an open file on his desk and Oliver turns for the door first. Felicity hesitates for a moment longer, studying the Captain at his desk, before following after him.

 

“Thanks,” Oliver bites as he walks back towards his desk and she’s glad, at least, that he realizes her promise to Lance was mostly in the interest of keeping him from saying something stupid. She has to hasten her steps a bit to catch up with him, reaching her arm forward to grab his forearm.

 

“Hey,” she says. He halts after a step and she sees his shoulders move with a deep sigh before he turns to her. She hooks her thumb towards Lance’s office, removing her fingers from around his arm. “I’m happy to take the heat for you with your captain if you need me to, but I need to know what I’m getting myself into here.”

 

“What do you mean?” He asks and, as it turns out, Oliver Queen does not have a good poker face. She tilts her head at him, raising her eyebrows and trying to convey that she is not buying his crap right now.

 

He just offers her a blank stare. Felicity huffs out a breath in annoyance.

 

“How about telling me what exactly your captain has against you?” She asks.

 

“Pass,” he says, averting his eyes and turning his body as if to walk away from her. She reaches out again, stopping him and earning an annoyed look for her efforts.

 

“Okay, fine,” she gives. “Then, how about John Diggle? You wanna tell me what your history is with him?”

 

“We served together,” he offers.

 

“In the army, yeah,” she finishes for him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes at his resistance to sharing. “Dinah told me as much. I get the feeling that isn’t the whole story.”

 

Oliver lets out another exhale, this one frustrated and clearly at her expense. She holds her ground, staring up at him and refusing to give an inch. These are things she needs to know. His eyes narrow down at her.

 

“We had a falling out when we got stateside,” he bites out, like even the meager explanation hurts him to share. Felicity resists the urge to scoff.  _ Yeah, clearly _ . “John doesn’t trust me anymore. That’s all you need to know.”

 

He turns again, this time grabbing his discarded jacket off the back of his chair and heading for the exit from the bullpen. She blinks in surprise at the hasty retreat. Setting his coffee, still smeared with her lip color, down on his desk, Felicity chases after him as best as she can in her heeled boots.

 

“Excuse me, no,” she calls, once she’s caught up and she doesn’t have to actually shout. The station has calmed down mostly with the shift change, but it’s still a public arena for their conversation. “That is not all I need to know, mostly because it’s basically nothing. Anyone with moderate deductive reasoning skills could have figured that out and, I’ll have you know, I took the detective’s exam for fun when I was twenty-one and got a 97 percent. So, if you want me to work with you on this, then you need to-”

 

“No,” Oliver growls, spinning on her suddenly. They’re in front of the entrance to the station now, the open atrium empty but for them and an unmanned dispatch desk. He holds a hand up, not quite pointing at her but the intention is clear enough. “No, Agent Smoak, I don’t need to do anything other than my job. You are not my friend, you are not my partner, and I did not ask you to come here. The city did.”

 

She settles back on her heels at his low tone, glaring at him in response.

 

“So, all I owe you is professional courtesy,” he continues, meeting her glare head on. “Which I have given you. I have given you access to resources, I have included you in the process and in interrogations. And all I ask is that you leave my personal business as  _ my  _ personal business.”

 

He raises his eyebrows at her, just a little, as if asking her if he’s made himself clear.  _ Crystal _ , she thinks, schooling her features into something more apathetic than the sharp glare she’d been leveling him with. Tightening her shoulders, Felicity stands a little straighter. It prompts Oliver’s face to turn passive as well.

 

“Of course, Detective Queen,” she says, voice cold and hard. He doesn’t miss the change, but he doesn’t comment either. “Call me if you find something new, if it’s not too much trouble.”

 

Without waiting for him, she turns on her toe and spins back towards the bullpen they’d left behind. Oliver Queen may want to freeze her out, but he isn’t her only source of information in this city. She doesn’t know if it’s wishful thinking, but she swears she hears him sigh as she walks away from him.

 

\---

 

“Never hack angry.”

 

Felicity freezes, her fingers stalling over the keyboard beneath them for just a second before they continue their movement. It’s been a long time since anyone has accused her of hacking, a long time since they’d have been right to accuse her. Still, she glances over at Alena as she continues her rapid typing into the database she’s using.

 

“Excuse me?” She asks.

 

“Sorry,” Alena says, shaking her head. “It’s something my old mentor used to say. I meant it as a figure of speech.”

 

“Funny,” Felicity comments dryly. “I only ever hacked angrily.”

 

Alena blinks at her like she expects her to continue. In a better mood, she might. She’s always been a bit of an oversharer, but she’s also learned over her time with the Bureau that oversharing about one’s criminal past is a pretty big no-no, even if all of the charges have been erased from your record.

 

“I just meant,” Alena starts again, once it’s clear Felicity doesn’t intend to elaborate, “That it seems like something is bothering you.”

 

Felicity bites down hard on her tongue before she can say something entirely unprofessional. It’s hardly some _ thing _ that’s on her nerve, but someone. A handsome but mysterious someone with a temper and flair for the dramatics who shall remain nameless. And whose throat she’d like to ring.

 

She spins in her chair, leaving the computer monitor behind to face Alena fully.

 

“I know that I’m basically an outsider or whatever,” she huffs out, some of her annoyance flaring and being directed at the poor woman. “But, I’m not some useless bureaucrat who’s come in to try and rain on everyone’s parade or take credit or  _ whatever _ . I asked to come and help because I genuinely thought I could do so without stepping on anyone’s toes. Instead, all that’s happened is me being treated like some brainless interloper who couldn’t tell a murder victim from my own mother!”

 

Alena blinks a few more times as Felicity takes a deep breath, trying to relax from the outburst. It’s unprofessional, but it had helped to an extent. It might have felt better if it had been directed at the proper parties - Mayor Adams, Captain Lance, Oliver Queen. Probably for the best it hadn’t been, though.

 

“Is this about Detective Queen?” Alena asks after a long moment of silence. Felicity spins back to her computer screen, glaring at the results the database has pulled up.

 

“No,” she lies, a bite to her voice that probably gives her away. The information on her screen seems like a lot to go through, but the most important things are at the top. She decides to send the results to her email, easily accessible from her phone, and spins back to Alena.

 

The other woman’s attention has returned to her own work, the screen in front of her reflected off of her round glasses. Felicity considers her for a moment, before making a decision.

 

“Alena, can I ask you something?” She asks cautiously. Alena hums in a response, her head bobbing as she splits her attention between the screen and Felicity. “What can you tell me about Mayor Adams?”

 

At that, Alena stops what she’s doing to turn back to Felicity, an inquisitive eyebrow raised.

 

“Haven’t you already met her?” She asks.

 

“Yeah, but that hardly tells me everything I need to know about her,” Felicity shrugs, hoping she just seems casually interested in the goings-on of this strange shoreside town, rather than too heavily invested.

 

“Well, she’s a typical politician, really,” Alena shrugs. “Fiscally conservative, wishwashy on social issues. She ran on a campaign of family values with the slogan ‘Make Starling Great Again.’”

 

“That’s,” Felicity starts, trying to pick her words carefully, “Eerily familiar.”

 

“Yeah, I didn’t say I voted for her,” Alena admits, rolling her eyes. “I don’t know, she’s not really my cup of tea. But she hasn’t destroyed the city or enacted any super racist or bigoted measures yet, so. City Council would probably resist her pretty heavily if she tried, anyway.”

 

Felicity considers that. She knows the mayor doesn’t get any say on their city council. Part of that whole checks and balances thing. The mayor speaks for the city, but the council members speak for the communities within it. It’s not a perfect system and there’s little turnover in city councils, but it’s better than unchecked power.

 

“Is this her first term?” She asks.

 

“Yeah, but she ran unopposed,” Alena nods. “She’ll probably do so again next year when her term is up.”

 

Felicity hums, nodding her head lightly. It must be enough for Alena, who spins in her chair to return to her work. Felicity pushes herself out of her own, pulling up the email she’d sent to herself on her phone and double checking the information there.

 

“I have to go check on something real quick,” she announces as she heads for the door, earning a hum of tacit acknowledgement from Alena. “If anyone actually bothers to come looking for me, just tell them I’ll be back soon.”

 

\---

 

Felicity presses the buzzer for the apartment and rocks nervously on her heels. This is a little outside of her wheelhouse, not to mention her duties on this case, but she’d said she’d do it. So, here she is.

 

“Hello?” The voice on the other end of it comes through and Felicity leans forward, pressing down on the intercom button.

 

“Hi,” she greets. “My name’s Felicity Smoak. I’m working with the SCPD and I just had a few follow up questions from your release this morning.”

 

On the other end, John Diggle lets out a heavy, annoyed sigh which she thinks is mostly performative because he definitely didn’t need to hold down the intercom button while he did it. That was a choice. Still, he buzzes her inside.

 

It’s a six floor walk up and Felicity is beginning to realize she’s not in as good of shape as she probably should be. She’s not a field agent, so they don’t have the same physical fitness requirements for her but, still. It kind of seems like she should be taking better care of herself. When she reaches John Diggle’s floor, she has to stop for a moment to catch her breath.

 

For the moment, she’ll blame it on the fact that her skinny jeans really have no give and she is wearing block heels.

 

She finds the apartment she’s looking for at the end of the hall and knocks gently on the wooden door. He should be expecting her, so she figures she doesn’t need to knock loudly, but it takes him a minute to open it anyway. Felicity twists uncomfortably in the hallway, the damn soles of her heeled boots squeaking against the wooden floor.

 

“You’re with SCPD?” She hears and twists back around in surprise. She hadn’t heard him open the door, but John is peering out from the crack he’s created. It’s just large enough for his form to lean against the door jamb, but not enough to seem like she’s being invited inside.

 

Sighing, Felicity digs for her badge in the pocket of her trench coat. She’s becoming accustomed to the question, though John hasn’t asked it the way she’s been hearing it. Like there’s no way she could possibly be cop material. It’s just inquisitive. He wants to be sure of the person who’s just shown up at his door. Which, she figures, is fair.

 

“I’m actually with the Bureau,” she explains, holding her badge up for him and flipping it open so he can see the picture of her within. “I’m consulting on this case and I just wanted to ask you a few questions. I didn’t get the chance this morning.”

 

John nods in understanding. He pushes the door open a little more, but still doesn’t invite her inside. She doesn’t mind. He doesn’t seem nervous or very put out by her being here, which either means he’s innocent or he’s confident in his ability to appear it.

 

“Fire away,” he offers, gesturing in a ‘go ahead’ fashion with his hands before crossing his arms over his chest. It makes him seem even larger for a moment, his muscles standing out prominently in the tight burgundy henley he wears.

 

“How did you know Ted Gaynor?” She asks, shifting on her feet as she tucks her badge back into her pocket. She’s not much of an interrogator, but she knows that coming on too hard will make people put up walls. It’s one of the positives to constantly being underestimated.

 

“He and I served together on my first tour in Afghanistan,” he explains and Felicity nods at the explanation, encouraging him to expand on it. “He was my commanding officer. When we got stateside, he started up his security company and I was only here for a few months before shipping off again.”

 

“So, you two were close,” she prompts, tilting her head at him.

 

“Not so much anymore,” he admits, shrugging the shoulder pressed to the door frame. He seems much calmer than he did this morning and she’s beginning to wonder if angry annoyance is something Oliver Queen brings out in everyone. John goes on, “It’s harder staying close once you get home. At home, everyone expects you to just be whoever you were, do whatever you did before you left. It makes acclimating hard. You either assimilate or you rebel.”

 

“And Ted?” She asks.

 

“Ted was always a bit of a rebel,” John says, a fond smile softening his features. Felicity considers him for a moment, letting him give in to whatever memory has taken hold. She knows the next question is where things get dicey.

 

“I have to ask,” she sighs, hoping to convey her hesitance. There’s something to be said for your gut. Felicity didn’t grow up relying on her stomach to tell her things, but she started to rely on it more and more during her training at Quantico. And John Diggle? He just genuinely seems like a good dude.

 

“I understand,” he nods, already knowing where this is going. He’s probably known from the moment she’d buzzed his apartment.

 

“Where were you the night Ted died?” She asks.

 

“I was here all night,” he tells her and she tilts her head, a little pleadingly.

 

“Anyone who can corroborate that?”

 

“My ex-wife,” he says, nodding. The fond smile is back, but she thinks it’s directed at her this time. She gets the feeling he appreciates the thoroughness and, maybe he would have this morning as well, if anyone else had been his interrogator. “Lyla Michaels. We’re working through some things and we had dinner here two nights ago. She stayed over.”

 

Felicity is already pulling out her phone to send a message to Alena to look up Lyla Michaels’ contact information, nodding at John’s explanation.

 

“Okay, well, thanks,” she says, tucking her phone away and offering him an appreciative smile. “I’ll have an officer double check, but it’s mostly formality. You’re not an official suspect, but-”

 

“Don’t leave town,” he finishes for her, shaking his head in amusement. “Got it.”

 

“Have a nice day, Mr. Diggle,” she offers and he echoes the sentiment before disappearing behind the door as it clicks back into the frame. Felicity considers her options for food as she begins the trek back down to the lobby of the building. Yelp has listed three Chinese food places in her vicinity, but she really does not need to be engorging herself on pot stickers two days in a row. Plus, it seems a little early for lunch.

 

She’s pushing through the doors out onto the street when the browser window on her phone is replaced with an incoming call. There’s no name, but the area code is for Starling, so she swipes to answer it.

 

“Agent Smoak,” she greets as the call connects.

 

“Felicity, hey, it’s Dinah,” the woman on the other end says, sounding like she’s moving quickly through a windy area. A heavy sense of trepidation settles in Felicity’s stomach at her tone. After a breath, she finishes, “We’ve got another one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick final thing; I'm about to get really busy this coming week, so I might be skipping the update next week. We'll see how things end up. If you are following me on tumblr/twitter and see a dialogue tease go up, then I'll be posting on Friday. Otherwise, I'll see you all (hopefully) in two weeks!!
> 
> follow me places?  
> twitter: [@fellicityqueen](http://twitter.com/fellicityqueen)  
> tumblr: [fellicityqueen](http://fellicityqueen.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver deals with the fallout of his foul mood and they discover a lead that hits a little to close to home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, we're back! Sorry for the week off, but real life literally tried to eat me alive. It was... something.
> 
> Anyway, here's the chapter. I hope you enjoy it!!

Somehow, it seems like it’s always raining in Starling City. It’s not, Oliver knows, because it hadn’t been raining at all for the past week. So, really, they were probably due for it. But the front had come in fast, cold winds whipping through the city suddenly as dark clouds rolled over the blue sky. And then it was raining. Not in the heavy way of quick storms that drop their precipitation and then continue moving, but in the slow and steady way of never ending gray skies.

 

He swaps out the peacoat he’d been wearing for the hooded windbreaker in his trunk before he joins the lab techs and uniforms that have already been clearing the scene. Rain isn’t good for crime scenes. There’s only so much usable evidence to begin with without mother nature trying to wash it all away. The body is already covered beneath a bit of tarp, rain drops plopping loudly against the material before rolling to the cement beneath.

 

He tugs the hood on the windbreaker up over his already damp hair.

 

“What have we got?” He asks as he approaches his partner. Dinah is standing next to the body, talking to Dr. Schwartz. Felicity is generously holding an umbrella up high enough to cover Dinah, even though she keeps moving out of the range of it.

 

Dinah doesn’t acknowledge him, caught up with Schwartz, so he looks to Felicity. She’s already looking at him, a shockingly dark look on her face that he wouldn’t have thought her capable of, and then she is very deliberately  _ not _ looking at him. It’s fair, he supposes.

 

“You look like Robin Hood,” she offers unhelpfully, her eyes off towards some unknown point rather than at him. He frowns, glancing down at the windbreaker he’d chosen. It’s not department issued, so instead of the dark blue Dinah is sporting, it’s a dark forest green. He likes this windbreaker and at least he’s wearing waterproof shoes rather than the suede, heeled boots on her feet.

 

He turns, seeking out the first uniformed officer he can find instead.

 

“Who was first to the scene?” He asks, probably improperly directing his annoyance, but that’s been a staple of his day as it is. It’s not hard to imagine why Felicity might be giving him the cold shoulder. That doesn’t mean he has to just stand around and take it.

 

“Officer Davey,” the officer says, hooking his thumb over his shoulder towards another officer speaking to a small group of people. “She’s over with the witnesses who called it in.”

 

Oliver nods, already moving past the man to reach Davey where she stands with three other people. Two of them are dressed in business wear, probably on their lunch break, and the third looks like a jogger. She turns, moving away from them as Oliver approaches. Once she realizes he’s headed for her, Davey corrects her course to meet him.

 

“Detective Queen,” she greets. Oliver resists the urge to tug his hood down as it dips towards his eyes, instead crossing his arms over his chest and tossing his head a little to adjust it subtly.

 

“You were first on the scene?” He prompts, earning a nod from Davey. “Can you tell me what happened?”

 

“According to the witnesses,” she starts, gesturing back at the three people she’d just left, “Our victim started seizing before he collapsed over there.”

 

She gestures now towards where the body is still hidden beneath a tarp. It’s lifted at one corner, a lab tech holding it up while Felicity is crouched next to it, peering at the victim beneath. Oliver looks back to Davey.

 

“Did they see anyone near him before he collapsed?” He asks and she shakes her head, chagrined.

 

“No, they’re all a little shaken up,” she sighs. “They said it happened really fast. One of them called 911, but once he collapsed, they couldn’t find a pulse.”

 

Oliver frowns as he considers that. So far, they’ve been operating on the assumption that the killer is in the victim’s vicinity when they’re killed. If no one saw anyone near their latest victim, the device may have a remote trigger that could be operated from who knows how far away. That’s very, very bad.

 

“Oliver,” someone calls and he turns to find Dinah beckoning him over. 

 

Felicity is a few feet from her, stilling chatting with the lab tech, but no longer crouched next to the body. He heads towards them and something about his gaze on her must alert her, because she glances over at him. The look is lightning quick before she catches herself and returns her attention to the tech. He huffs a little in annoyance, feeling as if the already cold temperature drops a little further as he reaches their small group.

 

“Lift it,” Dinah instructs as Oliver draws near and the lab tech scrambles to follow the instruction, pulling the tarp up enough for Oliver to catch sight of the body beneath it. He lets out a breath through his teeth, a quiet hiss that he’s sure no one outside of their small gathering hears.

 

Jason Brodeur. He recognizes the man from the media spectacle that his court case had become a few months back. Their theory that these killings are less about money and more about conscience is becoming more and more likely.

 

“What am I missing?” Felicity asks, abandoning her icy demeanor in the name of her curiosity.

 

“Jason Brodeur was the CEO of Brodeur Chemicals,” Dinah explains, watching as the lab tech eases the dark tarp back over Brodeur’s body. “A few months ago he was indicted for willfully allowing his workers to continue working in an unsafe environment. A bunch of them got sick or died, but the prosecution couldn’t find the evidence to convict.”

 

“A lot of people wanted him dead,” Oliver tacks on.

 

“Yeah, but only one actively tried to make it happen,” Dinah points out, shooting him a meaningful look. He frowns at her. “Reston got out on parole a few weeks ago.”

 

“Shit,” Oliver sighs, reaching up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t like Reston for this, the kid hardly fits the profile, but he knows they can’t overlook the connection. “Take a uniform and a marked car and go and pick him up. Felicity and I will clear the scene and meet you at the station.”

 

“He’s not gonna like it,” Dinah argues, raising an eyebrow at him.

 

“Make sure he knows it’s not an arrest,” Oliver shrugs, because he doubts Reston will be happy but he’s not going to want to risk violating parole. “We just want to talk to him.”

 

Dinah shrugs at him, giving in. She turns to head away, waving over at Officer Davey where she’s keeping the police line intact. Oliver can see they’ve started to accrue a crowd.

 

“Why do I constantly feel like I’m missing half of the conversations around here?” Felicity wonders aloud. He fights at the pull of his lips, amused by her despite his annoyance. Something tells him that’s the general effect she has on people.

 

“Probably because you are,” he offers lightly, throwing a smirk her way. He watches her eyes narrow at him for his efforts before he turns away to finish with the lab techs, tossing back at her, “I’ll explain when we get back to the station.”

 

\---

 

“So, a few years back Brodeur Chemical got hit pretty hard by the economic recession,” Oliver explains as he drives back to the station. Felicity is seated in the passenger seat next to him, her black umbrella folded down and settled on her lap. Her bright coat keeps the water droplets on the umbrella from reaching the sweater she wears beneath.

 

“Let me guess,” she cuts in, adjusting in her seat a little so she can face him more easily. “The company responded with mass layoffs of underlings rather than cutbacks on spending or executive paychecks.”

 

Oliver glances over at her, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

 

“It’s hardly the first multibillion dollar company to choose keeping it’s execs comfortable rather than retaining workers,” she shrugs and, yeah, she’s not wrong. So, Oliver just nods instead.

 

“Flash forward a few years,” he goes on. “A bunch of former Brodeur employees start getting diagnosed with cancer. They started to claim Brodeur Chemical and Jason Brodeur himself knew what they were being exposed to and chose not to fix it or tell the workers what was happening.”

 

“I wish I was surprised,” Felicity admits quietly. He glances over at her again, looking down to her lap where her painted nails pick at a loose thread in the sleeve of her trench coat.

 

“A couple of them died before a real case could be filed,” he says, looking back to the road ahead of them. A stoplight ahead turns yellow and he eases onto the break. “One of whom was Derek Reston.”

 

“Wait, Derek Reston is dead?” Felicity asks and he doesn’t need to look over at her to know she’s frowning. He does anyway, glancing sidelong at her as she pouts a little to herself, trying to commit everything he’s telling her to memory. He blinks, looking back to the road. She presses, “So who, exactly, is Dinah bringing in right now?”

 

“Kyle Reston,” Oliver answers, accelerating through the intersection as the light returns to green. “Derek’s son. A few years ago, after his dad died and the rumors about Brodeur Chemical hit a tipping point, Kyle followed Brodeur out of his office and assaulted him. Nearly killed him and, might have, if someone hadn’t pulled them apart and called 911.”

 

“So he blames Brodeur for his father’s death,” Felicity concludes and he nods in assent. She’s quiet for a moment, the wheels spinning in her head. “But, what’s his connection to the other victims?”

 

“Yeah,” he nods, sighing at the question. “I wondered the same thing. Kyle probably didn’t have anything to do with this, but if we didn’t at least question him we wouldn’t be doing our job.”

 

“Not to mention, he’s the only suspect you’ve gotten so far,” she points and Oliver flinches, a little irritated by the reminder that this case has led to nearly nothing for his department. That’s not Felicity’s fault, though, so he stays silent.

 

He hears the tapping of her fingers against her phone, moving across the small keyboard with a speed that seems almost unrealistic in it’s surety. He thinks about asking, but it could be personal and, after all, isn’t he the one who’d insisted on a separation in that area?

 

Still, his mind betrays him as she continues to type a message, chewing on her lower lip when he shoots a glance in her direction. He’d snapped at her to leave his personal life alone, as if he even has a personal life. Rather, he has spectre’s of the life he used to have. The past clawing at him, pulling and tearing and trying to force him back into it everywhere he goes.

 

He thinks, sometimes, that he’d be better off if he’d left Starling behind years ago. He has a captain who can’t see past the boy he was, a best friend -  _ only  _ friend, a dark voice in his mind reminds him - who hates him. Even his relationship with McKenna had felt like it had been built on who he wanted to be, but not the person he is.

 

He pulls to a stop at another red light and looks over at Felicity. She’s smirking down at the small screen of her phone now, her fingers still as she reads over whatever is on it. Maybe she has more in D.C. She must, he figures, since most people don’t make isolation a preferred state of being the way he has. Felicity is light and, admittedly, beautiful. He can’t imagine there isn’t someone waiting for her at home.

 

“What?” She asks, startling him out of his thoughts. She’s frowning suspiciously at him and he reminds himself that she’s still upset with him. It’s probably for the best that she remains passively annoyed with him, gives them both reason to keep their distance from one another.

 

“I’m just thinking about the profile we were talking about yesterday,” he lies, trying to force his mind back to the case. Instead, his brain conjures up images of her this morning, her bright red lipstick stains on his coffee cup. The fierce, challenging look in her eyes as he’d leaned towards her.

 

The light changes and he hits the gas a little harder than he intends.

 

“Brodeur’s case was a media frenzy,” he goes on, finally getting his mind back on track as they close in on the police station. “Everyone knew about the charges and everyone knew he was guilty.”

 

“And yet, he got away with it,” Felicity comments and Oliver nods, turning into the parking lot behind the station and pulling into a spot. He puts the car in park and releases his seatbelt, turning in his seat to face her.

 

“Everyone this guy has gone after so far,” he says slowly, working through the thoughts as he says them, “Is someone who used their wealth to get away with their shitty actions, people who hurt others. People that our system couldn’t put away.”

 

Felicity’s eyes widen a touch as she realizes where he’s going. Then, they narrow, the blue of them sharp and bright as she stares at him.

 

“You think we’re dealing with a vigilante?” She asks.

 

“Or someone who fancies themselves as one,” he shrugs, straightening in his seat and reaching for the door handle. “It’s just a theory, so let’s keep it between us for now. We need to deal with Reston first.”

 

Felicity nods in agreement and he pushes the car door open, sliding out of it. The rain hasn’t stopped, but it’s only falling in a sprinkling now. Oliver is familiar with it and figures it will persist, nearly nonstop, for the next day or so. He pulls his hood back as he heads towards the back entrance to the station and Felicity doesn’t bother with her umbrella this time.

 

“Any trouble?” He asks as he catches Dinah coming out of an interrogation room. Felicity comes to a stop next to him, her still wet umbrella dangling from her fingers and brushing unintentionally against the back of his hand. It leaves a smear of water in its wake.

 

“Nothing I can’t handle,” she says, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. Oliver nods, because he knows better than to doubt her by now. “How do you want to do this?”

 

“I want to talk to him,” he says before glancing over at Felicity, she seems a little startled by the attention, her gaze already on the side of his face. “You wanna sit in?”

 

He hopes it’s an olive branch. At least, that’s what he’s going for. Apologies aren’t really his forte, but he’s willing to admit he owes her something. She frowns at him for a moment, but ultimately nods in agreement.

 

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Thanks.”

 

“Good luck,” Dinah says, shooting him a meaningful look. It doesn’t inspire confidence in him for what he’s about to walk into. Reston is an angry kid, made angrier by a system that was stacked against him. He pulls the door to the interrogation room open, Dinah disappearing behind the door to the adjoining room, and Felicity follows him inside.

 

Kyle Reston is slouched in the uncomfortable metal chair on one side of the table. He isn’t handcuffed to it like John had been this morning. This isn’t an official arrest, it’s just some questions. Oliver’s just glad he’d agreed to come down to the station for it, rather than leave it to his neighbors to gossip.

 

The kid looks up, throwing a dark glare Oliver’s way. His gaze shifts, landing on Felicity as she settles into the chair next to Oliver’s, her hands clasping in front of her on the table. Reston’s eyes narrow in suspicion.

 

“What are you?” He asks, harshly. “The department shrink?”

 

“Shrink- Do I- Is that what I look like?” She asks, glancing down at herself before looking over at Oliver. “Do I look like a therapist?”

 

He ignores the question, choosing instead to level a steady, dark look at Reston. The other man’s eyes are still on Felicity, a confused tilt to his eyebrows now.

 

“You look like detective barbie,” he says instead and Oliver glances over just in time to catch Felicity sending her own glare at Reston. She shuffles in her coat pocket until she pulls her badge out, holding it up without unfolding it so that Kyle Reston can see the gold badge sticking through the leather.

 

“ _ Agent _ Barbie,” she corrects coldly and, really, Oliver is just glad it isn’t being directed at him this time. He doesn’t miss the surprised widening of Kyle’s eyes before he returns to his passive facade.

 

“Agent Smoak is with the FBI,” he explains, settling his own hands onto the table. “She’s here consulting on a case. We just have a few questions for you.”

 

“Yeah, your attack dogs mentioned as much,” Kyle comments, slumping down in his chair. Oliver is suddenly very grateful that he’d asked Felicity to sit in. Her temperament seems much better than Dinah’s, who wouldn’t have taken well to being referred to as such. He’s sure she’s stewing in the room behind him.

 

“Jason Brodeur was killed this morning,” Oliver says, cutting to the chase. The quicker they get through this, the sooner they can move on. Kyle’s face lights up with recognition at that, annoyance at being hauled into the station turning to surprise and curiosity as he sits up.

 

“Wait, for real?” He asks, leaning forward onto the table. “Someone actually managed to get that bastard?”

 

Oliver tilts his head at the response, raising an eyebrow at Kyle. He seems to catch himself, straightening his shoulders and clearing his throat. He meets Oliver’s gaze head on, though, unwavering in his confidence.

 

“I didn’t have anything to do with it,” he insists.

 

“Great,” Oliver nods. “Then you won’t mind telling us where you were this morning between nine and eleven a.m.”

 

“Exactly where your guys picked me up, at home,” he says on a sigh, like he knows that the answer won’t help him. “Alone.”

 

“No one saw you?” Felicity presses. “Not your neighbors? You didn’t, maybe, snapchat a friend?”

 

Oliver shakes his head a little at the question, but let’s Kyle answer.

 

“No, man, I was in bed until ten-thirty,” he says. “I had only been up for about an hour before the angry chick started knocking on my door.”

 

“You did have a publicly volatile relationship with Brodeur,” Oliver reminds him, he’s sure, needlessly. Kyle huffs, leaning forward a little more in his frustration. His arms are outstretched slightly on the table, reaching out in search for understanding.

 

“Yeah, and so did dozens of other families in this city,” he insists, pleading a little as he looks between Oliver and Felicity. “Brodeur costs hundreds of people their livelihoods and their homes, tossing them off like they were nothing to him. And what did he give them for their years of loyalty and hard work? Fucking cancer!”

 

“I know that you’re still grieving,” Oliver says, trying for sympathetic but it sounds wrong even to his own ears. He frowns at himself, ignoring the memories that linger at the back of his mind, fuzzy and dark but familiar. “I know what you’re going through.”

 

“Don’t act like you know what me and my family have had to do to get by,” Reston bites, leaning forward on the table to glare at Oliver. “I have fought and scraped by for just the bare minimum in life. You never had to work for anything. And neither did Brodeur. If you ask me, what happened to him is karmic justice.”

 

“Death isn’t justice,” Felicity says, leaning forward a little to meet Reston’s gaze. His eyes land on her, narrowed in their grief and anger. “It doesn’t make him pay for what he did to your family the way a trial and a prison sentence would have.”

 

“The system doesn’t work on people like him,” he argues, resentment dripping from his tone. “Not in this city. It caters to the rich and leaves people like me, like my father, in the dust. Brodeur was never gonna face any real penalty for what he did. They tried that, it didn’t take.”

 

“The city didn’t have enough evidence,” Oliver tries, but Reston turns to him with a sharp look. It’s dark and angry, dripping with hatred and Oliver can’t be sure it’s not targeted at him rather than the system that failed Kyle and all the other people who Brodeur hurt.

 

“Spare me,” he growls. “The man that killed your father is rotting in a supermax. The least you can do is let me have the satisfaction of seeing the man that killed mine six feet under.”

 

Oliver can feel Felicity’s gaze on the side of his face, burning with curiosity, but he ignores her. Determinedly, he keeps his gaze on Kyle as his words settle over the silent room. He understands, really, why Kyle would settle it at his feet. His family had been able to see justice and to someone who hasn’t, that looks like closure. Oliver has never thought it felt like closure.

 

“Is there anyone who can attest to your whereabouts this morning?” He tries once more. Reston sighs, settling back into the chair and shaking his head in the negative.

 

“I’m on parole, man,” Kyle says, the anger giving way to reveal a tiredness in his eyes. It’s familiar to Oliver. “I only got out a few weeks ago, I’m not trying to do anything to jeopardize that. I just want to get back to my life.”

 

“Alright,” Oliver nods, standing from his chair. Felicity follows him. “Someone will be by to release you. Just stay in town.”

 

He turns and finds Felicity already standing by the door. Her gaze is still inquisitive as it surveys him, but he knows she won’t say anything, not after this morning. Her painted fingers wrap around the doorknob, twisting and pulling the door open for him to step through first. He’s halfway out when Kyle’s voice behind him stops him.

 

“I didn’t kill him,” he says one last time and Oliver decides not to admit that he doesn’t doubt that. “But, when it comes to a guy like Jason Brodeur, I don’t think you’ll be hurting to find suspects.”

 

Oliver steps out of the room, hearing the door swing shut behind them as Felicity joins him in the hallway. He reaches up to rub his forehead with the pads of his fingers, pressing against the ensuing headache as if it will help at all.

 

“Well, that was,” Felicity starts, swinging around to face him as she searches for the word. Her coat flares around her with the movement, opening to reveal the black sweater underneath. Finally, she settles on, “Enlightening.”

 

Oliver lets out a quiet, frustrated noise of agreement. He shouldn’t be letting Kyle Reston get into his head, but he’s having trouble forcing down the memories that man has stoked in him. Felicity must be able to read it in his face, because when he drops his hand and meets her gaze, she’s staring at him with that same inquisitive look on her face.

 

The door to his right opens and Dinah steps out to join them. Felicity breaks the gaze, looking away from Oliver. Her ponytail sways with the movement, but she’s already talking before either of them have a chance.

 

“Look, even if Kyle Reston hated Brodeur, we need something that ties the victims together other than our hypothetical profile,” she says, pulling her phone out of her coat pocket and swiping the screen to unlock it. Her brow creases as she starts typing on the screen. “I’ll grab Alena and we’ll start looking for any kind of connection between the four of them.”

 

“Let us know if you find anything,” Oliver says, nodding in agreement with the plan. Felicity nods once, her interest lost to the small device in her hands as she turns away from them and heads in the direction of the stairs to the lower level.

 

“You don’t think Reston did it,” Dinah says, not a question. He’d have sworn he had a better poker face than this, but he’s not really trying to hide it. Instead, he shrugs.

 

“He just got out of prison and back to his family,” he shrugs. “He’s trying to get his life back together. I don’t think he’s looking to jeopardize that.”

 

“Yeah,” Dinah admits, sighing. “My gut’s telling me he’s not our guy.”

 

“I’ll go update Lance and McKenna,” he offers. “Do me a favor and get Reston released.”

 

Dinah nods and they head in separate directions. Dinah in search of an officer to rush through Reston’s release forms and Oliver towards McKenna’s desk. He’s dreading dealing with Lance again, walking towards the office feeling like a walk to his doom. He wonders if he’d always been this dramatic or if it’s something the job as brought out in him.

 

He leans against McKenna’s desk, already sending an innocent pleading look her way. She sighs when she looks up at him, grabbing a file off of her desk and pushing out of her chair.

 

“You know, one day you’ll have to deal with him without a buffer,” she tells him, annoyance creating a crease in her brow. Oliver just shrugs.

 

“One day,” he gives.

 

\---

 

Oliver is sitting at his desk, trying to get some paperwork from Reston’s questioning finished. Dinah is across from him and he’s sure she’s working on some similar paperwork that’s fallen through the cracks over the duration of this case. His phone vibrates almost violently on the desktop, rattling the whole thing and moving with the vibrations.

 

He reaches for it, frowning down at the unfamiliar number until it clicks exactly who it is. He looks up at Dinah, knocking the corner of the phone against his desk to get her attention. She raises an eyebrow at him, her fingers stalling over her keyboard.

 

“Felicity found something,” he explains, already pushing himself out of his chair and rounding his desk. She follows after him as he leads her out of the bullpen and down the stairs, past the showers, to the peeling lettering that denotes the Technical Division.

 

Felicity is off, words flying as soon as he pushes the door open. The glow of her monitor reflects against her glasses, fingers moving at an almost alarming rate over the keyboard in front of her.

 

“Okay, so, we did a little online searching,” she explains, somehow never pausing in her movements even as she speaks to them. “And we found three of our victims listed in an online manifesto posted to some shady looking - and, truly, poorly designed - website for these kinds of anti-government, anti-elite, anti-pretty-much-everything types.”

 

She stops finally, spinning in her chair to face Oliver and Dinah where they stand in front of the open door. Somewhere in the room, a printer whirs to life and begins to cover pages with toner. Still, Felicity isn’t finished.

 

“So one of the postings on this message board straight up called out Brodeur, Hunt, and Fuller, along with a handful of other city elites,” she continues, stopping to point to where the printer is still spitting out sheets of paper. “I’m printing the document off now. We may want to reach out to the other’s who were named and offer them a protective detail.”

 

“And what about the poster?” Oliver asks, rounding the setup of desks and monitors to join her on the other side of the computer. The document she’d mentioned is still up on one side of the screen, some sort of code he can’t read running alongside it. “Do you know who wrote the post?”

 

“That’s the thing,” she sighs, which means no. “I can use their IP address to get a general geographical area, but I’d need a court order to get their ISP to give me any personal details. All I have right now is his online username; The Savior.”

 

“Original,” Dinah huffs, rolling her eyes. She’s already spinning away from them, heading out of the room as she calls back, “I’ll call a judge.”

 

“Who else was mentioned in the document?” He asks, leaning on the back of Felicity’s chair in an attempt to get a better look at the screen.

 

“There’s a handful of people,” she shrugs. “Mostly businessmen or politicians; James Holder, Frank Bertinelli, Warren Patel, Emily Pollard…”

 

Oliver frowns, recognizing some of the names. They’ll have to offer them all protection, which might tax the department and piss off Lance, but it’s necessary. Councilwoman Pollard won’t like it and Frank Bertinelli would probably rather be caught in a room with the Bratva and the Triad than have a police escort following him around.

 

“Detective Queen,” Alena says, pulling Oliver from his thoughts. He turns to her, still leaning on Felicity’s chair, and frowns. She corrects, “Um, Oliver. There was another name listed in the posting.”

 

Oliver waits, expecting her to continue. Realizing she’s waiting for prompting, he raises his eyebrows at her and she straightens a little. He realizes, suddenly, she looks distinctly uncomfortable.

 

“Walter Steele,” she says finally. Felicity must hear his sharp intake of breath as he straightens up, pushing off the back of her chair, because she’s frowning up at him now.

 

“Who’s Walter Steele?” She asks after a moment of waiting for someone to clue her in. Oliver squeezes his eyes shut, wishing there was a way around having to deal with this. But Walter could be in actual danger and he’s not going to take the chance just to avoid an awkward encounter. He gives in, meeting Felicity’s confusion and frustration head on.

 

“My stepfather,” he tells her. Surprise washes over her face as she stares up at him, her mouth opening just slightly as she processes the information. Alena has turned away from them again, back to her computer, most likely just to avoid being involved in the situation any further. Oliver doesn’t blame her.

 

“You know, for someone who wants his personal life to be private,” Felicity starts slowly, once the news has sunk in. He doesn’t miss her sharp tone or the way she turns back to her computer screen as well, avoiding his gaze now. “It sure seems to be coming up a lot.”

 

“I know,” he bites, because, yeah.

 

\---

 

“A phone call probably would have sufficed,” Dinah comments, her arms crossed over her chest as she stares through the two-way glass in front of them. Oliver sighs, watching through the glass as well as Walter shifts in his seat, twists his wrist, checks the time.

 

He doesn’t really feel like a lecture right now.

 

“How’s the court order going?” He asks, ignoring the comment.

 

“In progress,” she offers shortly.

 

“And the warrant for Blackhawk?” He tries.

 

“In progress,” she gives again.

 

“Felicity is working on getting information for everyone listed in the document,” he says instead, letting out a short sigh. “When she’s finished, she’ll bring you the list and we can start offering people protection.”

 

Dinah hums noncommittally and Oliver knows his attempt at deflection has failed. Still, he steps back from the glass and moves around Dinah to reach the door. The sooner he gets his conversation with Walter over with, hopefully culminating in his stepfather taking the offered police detail, the better.

 

“Oliver,” Walter greets as he enters the room, accent warm and familiar. It makes Oliver’s chest ache a little as he settles into the chair opposite him. “It’s good to see you. Though, it wouldn’t require a police escort if you just wanted to catch up.”

 

“This is police business,” Oliver tells him.

 

“Yes, I was afraid of that,” he nods sagely, linking his fingers together on the table in front of him. Even now, held in an interrogation room without explanation, Walter sits up with his back straight, exuding an easy confidence without seeming cold. It’s not hard to imagine why his mother had been so drawn to the man.

 

“Do you know Jason Brodeur?” Oliver asks.

 

“I believe Queen Consolidated used to have a few contracts with Brodeur Chemical back in the day,” he says, frowning at the question. “I never knew the owner personally, though.”

 

“Jason Brodeur was killed this morning,” Oliver explains, earning a surprised eyebrow raise from Walter. “We believe it’s connected to a series of killings. Brodeur and a few other victims were named in an online manifesto. We’re working to track down the poster, but you were also named in the document.”

 

“Really?” He ask, his frown deepening with the news Oliver is giving him. “Well, I barely had any contact with Brodeur in the first place, but after Queen Consolidated was sold, I haven’t kept up with many of the people we’d contracted with.”

 

“We think Brodeur and the other victims were targeted for his less than savory business practices,” he continues. “Any idea why you would be linked with them?”

 

“Is that your way of asking me if I ever partook in anything outside the law while working with Queen Consolidated?” Walter asks, leaning back a little in his chair. When Oliver only raises a shoulder slightly in a shrug, he sighs and goes on, “Not that I am aware of. But I didn’t oversee everything that went on at the company.”

 

“So, you’re saying there might have been stuff happening at Queen Consolidated that got you on this guy’s list?” Oliver presses. “But you didn’t know anything. So, what about my father? What did he know?”

 

Walter lets out another sigh, tired and longer this time. “Oliver, you’re father was a good man. Faults and all, he always did his best.”

 

“That’s a really nice way to say the means justify the ends,” Oliver says, frowning at Walter. His stepfather sighs at the comment, but before he can argue, Oliver continues, “You know, Walter, I believe that if there was something shady happening at my parent’s company you didn’t know about it.”

 

Gathering himself, Oliver lifts himself out of his chair. Walter’s eyes follow him as he stands and moves away from the table, leaning back against the mirrored glass behind him and crossing his arms over his chest. He wonders, vaguely if Dinah is still on the other side or if she’s left to help Felicity yet. He doesn’t like the idea of his dirty laundry being aired for anyone to see.

 

“I believe you because you and I know better than most,” he says anyway. “When it comes to the Queens, secrets and lies are what we do best.”

 

Walter offers him a sympathetic look, rather than anger or irritation, and it tightens something in Oliver’s chest again. He glances away, reminding himself where they are and why they’re here.

 

“We brought you in to offer you a protective detail until we find the person who posted the document,” he tells Walter. “Something that I highly recommend you accept. We have no idea who the next target could be, so we’re offering protection to everyone on the list.”

 

“I have my own security personnel on retainer,” Walter says, nodding a little as he stares down at his linked fingers. “I appreciate the offer, but I assure you I’ll be extra careful until you find them.”

 

Oliver holds Walter’s gaze for a moment, but he knows any further insistence would be useless. He nods instead, offering the man a gentle farewell and trying not to move too quickly for the door. The encounter, while brief, has left him drained and he wants to be anywhere else at the moment. He pulls the interrogation door closed behind him and takes a deep breath.

 

“Are you okay?” Felicity asks behind him. He hears the sound of the door to the room adjacent to the interrogation he’d been in close and he tenses at the realization that she must have been watching. He wonders when she’d come in, how much she’d seen.

 

He turns to her, ignoring the way she’s looking at him with such tenderness. He doesn’t deserve it, her sympathy and concern, especially considering they still might as well be strangers. They don’t have to be strangers, he considers.

 

“Do you want to get a drink?” He asks, ignoring her question in favor of his own. Confusion creases her brow and he, momentarily, allows himself the thought of how adorable it makes her look.

 

“What?”

 

“It’s been a really long day and I could really use a drink,” he explains, taking a step towards her. “And it might be nice to have some company. Plus, I do still owe you an apology.”

 

“I,” she starts, still frowning at him as she takes in the invitation. Finally, she nods, the confusion giving way to conviction. “Yeah. Yeah, I could definitely use a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for sticking around, guys! I've gotten so many lovely comments on this story and I'm really excited about some of the places it'll be heading! It's also really nice because the excitement about it keeps the muse flowing to an extent, as well as your guys' interest and excitement!
> 
> See you next week!
> 
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> twitter: [@fellicityqueen](http://twitter.com/fellicityqueen)  
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	6. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver buys Felicity a drink... or three. Felicity makes a potentially terrifying revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for being on time!! Hopefully this chapter lives up to expectations. I know some of you are waiting on very specific things, and they'll happen, but patience, my friends.
> 
> Also quick note; I legitimately spent like an hour trying to understand court orders, IP addresses and ISPs and I’m still not 100% sure this is how it works. But, short of walking down to my local police department or courthouse and just asking someone to explain it to me, I’ve done everything I could.

The thing about Oliver Queen is that Felicity really doesn’t know what to make of him. One minute he’s snapping at her to stay out of his business, the next he’s brooding over his personal life, and then suddenly he’s just casually inviting her to drinks. An invitation she is, embarrassingly, trying to keep herself from reading too much into. She knows he’s invited her because she was the only one around and because he feels like he owes her an apology.

 

Which, for the record, he does. She may not have been able to give him the cold shoulder quite as well as she had intended, but that doesn’t mean she’s any less annoyed at his outburst from this morning. A lot has happened since then, though, and she’d needed to focus on the case rather than her hurt feelings.

 

He leads her into a brick lined bar a few blocks from the station. It’s nice to duck out of the rain that’s still coming down outside. It’s no slower or faster than it had been when they’d found Brodeur’s body that afternoon, coming down in steady drops with no end in sight.

 

The bar is mostly empty, but Oliver waves her towards a hightop table in the corner rather than to the nearly empty bartop.

 

“On me,” he says, standing next to the table as she slides into one of the tall chairs. “Whatever you want.”

 

“Oh, um,” Felicity blanches for a moment, glancing towards the bar where the tender mills behind it. There are some signs for different beers, lit up in vibrant neon colors. She waves her hand, trying to appear casual rather than overwhelmed, “Just whatever is fine.”

 

Oliver nods and heads away from her, pulling his wallet from his coat pocket as he approaches the bar. She pulls her phone from her own pocket, setting it on the table in front of her and unlocking it. There aren’t any new messages, but she pulls her email up and drags her finger down the screen, forcing a refresh, just in case.

 

Oliver comes back with two bottles and sets one in front of her. She glances over the label on the beer as he takes a swig of his own and settles into the chair across from her. Tilting the bottle with her fingers around the neck of it, she raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“What are we doing here?” She asks.

 

“Having a beer,” Oliver offers simply. 

 

She stares at him, waiting for him to come up with a better answer. The corner of his mouth ticks up, but he lifts the beer to his mouth again rather than answering her. She watches his throat move as his take a long swig from the dark bottle and she finally lifts her own for a taste. It’s more bitter than something she’d usually pick out for herself, but she doesn’t flinch at the taste on her tongue so she figures she can handle it.

 

When he sets the bottle back down, it clinks against the tabletop and he studies the label, his thumb moving over the name of the drink and creasing the paper with the condensation building there. Felicity tries to force herself to stay silent, to wait him out rather than fill the quiet air with the sound of her own voice.

 

It doesn’t take so well.

 

“You know, my supervisor told me I should expect some pushback from the department if the mayor accepted my offer for help,” she starts, picking at the corner of her own beer label with her nail. It gives, the adhesive melting under the cold water, and she looks up to find Oliver watching her now. She puts on a rough affectation of Watson’s voice, “‘You can be a bit of a presence.’ I don’t even know what that means.”

 

“You don’t, do you?” Oliver asks, thoughtfully. His eyes have turned soft, or maybe that’s the dark lighting and Felicity’s imagination, and she waits for him to elaborate. Instead he shakes his a head a bit and says, “You shouldn’t take it personally. There’s not a lot of trust to go around in this city, especially for outsiders.”

 

“Is that why you don’t want to tell me anything about yourself?” She presses gently. He hesitates, but she can tell he’s working to find the words, rather than avoiding the question, so she lets him be.

 

“I just thought it would be easier,” he admits finally.

 

“How would knowing next to nothing about the people I’m working with make it easier on me?” She frowns, failing to find the logic behind that thought process. Oliver is answering before she can even finish the question.

 

“Easier for me,” he corrects with a conviction that surprises her. “I thought it would be easier on me if I kept my distance, if you just didn’t know much about me.”

 

“Why?” She asks and even she is growing tired of her own questions. Oliver is quiet for another moment, studying her and then, once more, his beer bottle. She sips lightly from her own as she waits for him.

 

“I’ve lived in Starling my whole life,” he starts finally, taking a deep breath. “After my dad died, I ended up enlisting in the army and I was gone for about five years, but when I came back, it was like I’d been gone a day. Things had changed, sure, but the way people knew me, what they expected of me, hadn’t.”

 

“So, you thought if I knew whatever it is everyone else knows about you,” she says, starting to make sense of the man sitting across from her for the first time since she’d gotten here, “That I would have expectations of you, too.”

 

“I thought it would be better, for both of us, if we kept our distance,” he shrugs. Felicity thinks about that morning, the dangerous way they’d challenged each other, the heated looks. Maybe he’s right about space. Even if they barely know each other, there’s an attraction there and, gorgeous as he is, she doesn’t think it’s one sided.

 

She gives her own shrug and admits, “Sometimes it’s nice to be around someone without any expectations of you.”

 

Oliver raises an eyebrow at her, encouraging her to continue non-verbally. She looks down at her bottle, swirling the liquid within around, watching it slosh up the sides. Finally, she decides to add a little give to all the take she’s been doing.

 

“I was twenty-one when the Bureau recruited me,” she tells him. “Nineteen when I graduated college, sixteen when I finished high school. I’m pretty familiar with high expectations.”

 

“Yeah, it’s more like low expectations,” he says a little darkly and Felicity frowns, still trying to piece him together. He feels like a puzzle made of five thousand pieces and she’s trying to put it together with three pieces and mismatched instructions. He looks up at her suddenly, frowning slightly with his head tilted, “How did you end up with the Bureau?”

 

“What? Don’t I look the type?” She asks, smiling enigmatically because she knows she doesn’t. Maybe the old her - all hard edges and bitterness. But not the woman she had decided to become, had needed to become to give herself a chance. Felicity hesitates, lifting her arms to set her elbows on the high top, resting her chin in her palm.

 

When she studies Oliver, he meets her look, letting her survey him as she considers how much of herself to give away. He’d just been talking about distance and keeping themselves from becoming too chummy, but he’d started this. And she’s hoping, if she gives a little of herself, he’ll offer her the same.

 

“When I was in college,” she starts finally, looking away from him to duck her head towards her shoulder. Her cheek scrapes over the still wet material of her coat and it prompts her to pull it off, the lining catching on the gold embellishments on her sweater. Oliver watches her patiently. 

 

Once she’s situated, she tries again, “When I was in college, I was part of this group. We called ourselves hacktivists, but were just a handful of computer geeks who were angry at the world, right? Anyway, we did some dumb stuff, but it was dumb stuff that got us noticed. Well,  _ me _ noticed, specifically. So, when I graduated, I ended up signing on with this much bigger, much angrier group. Which is how I ended up on the FBI’s radar.”

 

“Wait,” Oliver frowns, his eyes narrowing as he leans forward in his seat, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you telling me you were a cyberterrorist?”

 

“Yeah,” Felicity laughs, her shoulders shaking a little in amusement at his sudden shift in mood. His eyes are lit up with surprise and interest, vibrant the same way they’d been when he’d told her to be careful about asking questions. It’s beautiful on him and she bites down on the corner of her lip a little too hard.

 

She has to break the gaze, taking hold of her beer bottle again and picking at the corner of the label. It gives a little more and she works to peel it away fully. It’s been a while since she had to tell this story and there’s parts she’s skipping, chunks of time and mistakes that are better left in the graveyards where she buried them. Still, her thumb shakes where her nail slides under the sticker on the bottle.

 

“Anyway, so, I did a bunch of dumb stuff,” she continues, a practiced lightness to her tone. “But my heart was in the right place, you know? So, when I met Agent Watson - by which I mean when she hauled my ass into federal lock up - she gave me a choice; do my time in federal prison or put my skills to use in a way that might actually help people.”

 

“I guess that’s not much of a choice,” he comments and she nods.

 

“Yep,” she nods. “I got my masters while I trained for the Bureau and,” she lifts her hands, palms up, “here I am.”

 

“Here you are,” Oliver echoes and Felicity looks back up at him, her fingers tightening around her beer bottle in response to the soft look in his eyes. She doesn’t think she’s seen him like that before. It’s nice.

 

“So, what about you?” She asks finally, pulling her gaze away from his. He lifts his beer to his lips, also raising his eyebrows at her in question. She rolls her eyes at him, elaborating, “What made you want to become a cop?”

 

“McKenna, actually,” he admits, once he’s finished off his beer and set the empty bottle back on the table. Felicity raises an eyebrow and he chuckles. “We went to high school together. When I got back to Starling, we ran into each other and kind of ended up dating. I was listless for a while and she floated the idea of going to the academy, so I did. Just sort of fell into it, I guess.”

 

“Are you two still…?” She asks, trying to sound casual as she lifts her own beer, shaking it a little as if that somehow helps him understand what she’s asking. She tilts the beer back, her head tipping with it, but doesn’t miss the amused uptick of one side of his mouth.

 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. He twists the neck of his empty bottle between his thumb and forefinger. “No, that was pretty much doomed. She’s still a very good friend and I’d put my life in her hands as my Lieutenant, but we called it quits when she got promoted two years ago.”

 

“Yeah, it’s probably kind of frowned upon to date a superior,” she comments, frowning a little at herself. Technically, she thinks she’s his superior, in a work sense. Which is definitely not a path she should be letting her mind wander down. She glances down at her drink, sloshing it a bit and deciding she’s nowhere near drunk enough to be losing the ability to command her own thoughts.

 

“I don’t really do much dating anymore,” he says and she tries to hide her surprise at that, nodding a little jerkily instead.

 

“Me neither,” she says in a rush. “The job makes it kind of hard, right?”

 

“You’re really not seeing anyone?” He asks, too casually to be anything but forced. Felicity bites down on her tongue, shaking her head in the negative.

 

“Is that so surprising?” She presses and Oliver seems to hesitate, his mouth opening just slightly as he works to find the best response. Felicity doesn’t think she’s ever seen him do something like squirm before. Even this morning, he’d been all confidence and charm.

 

Rather than answering, he reaches forward, knocking his empty beer bottle against the glass of hers and startling them out of the moment. He tilts his head towards the bar.

 

“Another round?” He asks.  _ Bad idea _ , she thinks even as she nods at him. He slides out of his chair and heads for the bar again. Felicity lifts her drink, finishing off the rest of the bottle and trying to force her shoulders to de-tense.

 

She unlocks her phone, swiping down on the screen again and forcing another refresh on her email. Still nothing. Sighing, she pouts down at the screen, willing it to ping with an incoming message.

 

“Waiting for something?” Oliver asks, setting another beer in front of her. Locking her phone, Felicity shrugs a shoulder and takes a sip from the beer before she answers.

 

“I reached out to a friend of mine after we found Brodeur today,” she explains, sliding her phone further away from her and trying to resist the urge to continually check it. “He’s the chief science officer at S.T.A.R. Labs in Central City and he said he’d take a look at the device if I could send him some photos. I’m just waiting for him to get back to me.”

 

“That’s a good idea,” Oliver says, taking a drink from his own beer. “We don’t have many experts in this kind of stuff around here.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” she admits. Earning another eyebrow raise from him, she rushes on, “I just mean that’s why I requested to reach out. I thought I could add some insight into the tech aspect for you guys.”

 

“It’s a little hard for us when someone from outside the department comes in,” he says. “We’re all just used to each other. Everyone treated Dinah the same way for a while. Some people still do.”

 

“Dinah’s new?” Felicity frowns. “She could have fooled me.”

 

“She’s only been my partner for two years,” he explains. “They plucked her out of Hub City when McKenna got promoted.”

 

“Don’t departments usually promote from within?” She asks. “Why bring in someone from outside?”

 

“That’s exactly what a lot of people in the department asked when she came in,” he nods, back to twisting the neck of his beer bottle between his fingers. Felicity watches the movement as he speaks. “It made it hard for her when she first got here. She had to be tougher than all the people looking to take her down.”

 

“And you?” Felicity presses, looking up from the bottle to meet his eye. He chuckles and she knows that he’s understood what she’s asking. He gives a small shrug, his jaw working as he looks for the best answer.

 

“I didn’t make it any easier on her, I’m sure,” he admits. “But she’s a good cop and I’m glad to have her as a partner.”

 

Felicity nods, looking back to her own drink and finally taking another drink from it. It goes down smoother now, the bitterness familiar on her tongue after the first drink. They sit in silence for a few minutes, drinking and pretending they don’t notice the way the other is studying them.

 

“So,” Oliver says eventually, breaking the silence and clearing his throat. “What happens once we get the court order for the ISP?”

 

“Well, the internet provider can give us an address from the IP address,” she explains, shrugging. “Which, at least, means we’ll know where the person was when they posted to the website. They could have moved or been borrowing a computer but-”

 

“It’s a start,” he finishes, nodding at her.

 

“Does it always take this long?” She asks. “Because, there hasn’t been any movement on the Blackhawk warrant either.”

 

Oliver lets out a sigh, taking a swig from his drink before he answers. She waits, watching him as he nearly finishes off the beer before setting back down.

 

“Welcome to Starling,” he says finally with an annoyed shrug. “Our court system is in constant gridlock. It’s a wonder anything gets done.”

 

Felicity considers that for a moment, focusing on her own drink and thinking about her conversation with the mayor, not for the first time in the last few hours. She’s hard pressed to do anything that would actually constitute spying on the SCPD. But, maybe, she could try to use Adams’ expectations of her to her benefit.

 

“You know, I met with the mayor yesterday,” she starts hesitantly. Oliver raises an eyebrow in response but doesn’t comment. “She, um, seemed eager to offer her help. Maybe I could talk to her, see if there’s anyway she could rush our warrants through.”

 

“Are you sure?” He asks, frowning. “She hasn’t always been the force’s biggest supporter.”

 

“I think she wants to make a friend in the Bureau,” she lies, ignoring the tightness forming in her chest. It’s not a friend that Adams is looking for, but Felicity doesn’t know yet if Oliver is the right person to share that with. “At the least, she’ll probably be willing to hear me out.”

 

Oliver nods thoughtfully, finishing off the rest of his beer. Something churns uncomfortably in Felicity’s stomach, but she reminds herself that she hasn’t eaten since before getting to the station that morning, so the beer is probably settling strangely. Oliver polishes off his drink and she follows suit, ignoring the dizzying feeling starting behind her eyes and nodding when he offers another round.

 

While he’s gone, she sends an email to the mayor’s office requesting a meeting for tomorrow morning.

 

“So,” she says when he gets back, her fingers immediately wrapping around the cold bottle he offers her and pulling it towards herself. Oliver’s eyebrows raise a little in surprise, but he doesn’t comment as he settles back into his seat. “We’re officially on beer three and I’ve already revealed my dark backstory. But, I still know next to nothing about you.”

 

“You are persistent,” he comments, shaking his head at her. He’s smiling, though, so she thinks it’s a good sign. She bites down on her tongue again, but smiles back at him.

 

“I hate mysteries,” she explains. “They need to be solved.”

 

“Is that what I am?” He asks, leaning forward onto the table, his eyes narrowing in at her. “A mystery.”

 

Felicity shrugs again, leaning forward to meet him. “You tell me.”

 

He smiles at her again, wider this time, and she catches a flash of white teeth, the hollowing of a dimple in his cheek. His elbows are bracketing the table on either side of his beer and her palms are flat on the cold tabletop a few inches from him. It would be easy to reach for him and her muddled mind considers doing just that.

 

“What do you want to know?” He asks softly, cutting the train of thought off. Felicity flips through the things she  _ does _ know about Oliver Queen in her mind, as little as it is. It’s all bits and pieces - his relationship with John, the animosity Captain Lance seems to have for him, the accusations Kyle Reston had flung at him during his interrogation.

 

Eventually she lands on the latter.

 

“What happened to your dad?” She asks and he tenses up. Felicity figures that wasn’t the question he’d expected her to ask. He straightens in his seat, pulling his arms back towards himself and away from the possibility of her touch.

 

“He died,” Oliver says, stopping and shaking his head, as if correcting himself. “He was killed. It was almost ten years ago now. It was a friend of his - of  _ ours _ , really. My whole family knew him, my sister and I grew up around him. The short version is that he was a sociopath and my dad crossed him.”

 

“What happened to him?” She presses softly, fighting the urge to reach for him even from their distance.

 

“Life sentence in Iron Heights,” Oliver shrugs. “My father wasn’t the only person he’d killed.”

 

“Yeesh,” Felicity says, the word coming out like a breath between her teeth. Oliver nods, running his thumb over the lip of his beer. She frowns, trying to phrase her next questions gently, “So, Walter is your step dad.” He nods. “What about your mom?”

 

“You know, Felicity,” he says and there’s a teasing tone to his voice that she hadn’t expected. He leans forward on the table again and when the spread of his hand over the table top causes his thumb to brush against the side of her wrist, she doesn’t think it’s entirely unintentional. “If I tell you all my mysteries, what’s gonna keep you interested?”

 

She bites down on her lip, studying the playful tone and the way his eyes have darkened. Yeah, definitely not one-sided. Still dangerous, but more tempting than ever. Felicity shrugs her shoulders.

 

“Only one way to find out,” she says and she means for him to tell her all of his secrets, because she wants those more than ever. She very suddenly wants to understand him, inside out. But she also means whatever else they’re dancing around, whatever they might be braver about testing the limits of if they were more than two and a half drinks in.

 

Oliver’s eyes move over her face, studying her the same way she’s been doing to him all night. The tips of her fingers tingle - with excitement or anxiety or some emotion she hasn’t yet placed - and, unthinkingly, she swipes her tongue over her lower lip. She doesn’t miss the way Oliver’s eyes track the movement.

 

And then he’s pulling back, breaking whatever spell they’d created, and letting the lines of their temporary partnership come back into sharp focus. Felicity tenses, sitting back as well and grabbing her beer to nearly finish it off in her embarrassment. Even if Oliver shares this attraction, it’s entirely unprofessional of her to even be entertaining the idea and it’s not the impression she wants to leave.

 

“I should call you a cab,” he offers quietly and Felicity can feel the evening ending. She doesn’t manage to look him in the eye as she nods in agreement.

 

\---

 

Felicity wakes up starving and dehydrated and embarrassed at being such after three beers. She decides to ignore the parts of the evening that make her want to drown in the hotel pool and focus instead on her and Oliver’s conversation about the case.

 

She remembers, suddenly, sending an email to the mayor’s secretary about a meeting and checks her phone for a response. There’s a confirmation of an appointment set up for this morning and she checks the time to find that if she doesn’t get up and get showered  _ now _ , then she’s going to be walking into City Hall with wet hair and no makeup.

 

She makes it through security and up to the mayor’s office with three minutes to spare before her appointment. Patting down her hair, left loose today rather than the time spent crafting a smooth ponytail, she lingers next to Adams’ secretary’s desk.

 

“Hi,” she greets, ignoring the way she sounds winded from her haste to get here on time. “Do you remember me? I was here two days ago. I’m Agent Smoak. I have a meeting with Mayor Adams this morning.”

 

“She’s expecting you, Agent Smoak,” the girl says with a hand wave towards the door. She looks busy so Felicity tries not to take offense. “You can go on in.”

 

“Oh, uh, thank you,” she says but the girl’s attention has already moved on to the ringing desk phone.

 

Felicity turns, heading for the large glass doors that she really hopes won’t become a familiar staple of her time spent in Starling. She thinks, unbidden, of soft yellow bar lighting and exposed brick and hates herself a little bit. Shaking the thought, she pushes through the doors and startles at the sight of someone else in the office with Adams.

 

“Oh, oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she apologizes, trying to backtrack to the door. “I was told I could come in, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

 

“No, it’s quite alright, Felicity,” Mayor Adams says, standing from her desk. Felicity resists the urge to bristle at the friendly use of her name. She reminds herself she’d come here for a favor. “We were actually just waiting for you. Please, come in.”

 

The man with her, standing in front of the mayor’s desk, turns to face her. He offers her a gentle smile, his upper lip pulling back just slightly to show off straight, white teeth as his eyes crinkle. His sharp features make him seem unapproachable, but the smile says otherwise. Felicity takes a few steps forward further into the office.

 

“I know my request for a meeting was last minute,” she starts carefully as Adams rounds her desk to meet her.

 

“Don’t worry about that,” she insists, waving her hand. “I figured you might be having some trouble with getting your court orders through.”

 

Felicity frowns. “Actually, yeah.”

 

“Yes, the process can be a long one,” Adams sighs, shaking her head in remorse. Felicity clasps her hands in front of her, resisting the urge to gag at the mayor’s false affection. She’ll get her favor first and then decide what to do about Adams’ inevitable follow up request.

 

God, when did she become Felicity the Spy? She works for the FBI not the NSA.

 

“Yeah, I’m having some trouble getting a warrant for an IP address to go through,” she explains, trying not to fidget too much with her hands. “I didn’t know if there was anything you could do to help me out.”

 

If Adams’ smile turns a little sharper, Felicity is willing to chalk it up to her imagination for now. She turns, motioning to the man still standing in front of her desk. Despite his warm smile, he hasn’t introduced himself or moved, content to simply listen to their conversation. Felicity frowns at him in confusion.

 

“This is our District Attorney, Adrian Chase,” Adams introduces and he finally moves, holding out a hand to Felicity. She takes another step forward to meet him, wrapping her fingers around his and giving a gentle shake.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Agent Smoak,” he says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Her face must give away her concern over that statement because he laughs as he lets her hand go, a warm, charming sound, and assures her, “All good things, I promise.”

 

“Well, then, it’s nice to meet you, too,” she says, nodding at him and shoving her hands into her coat pockets. The movement causes water droplets from the rain outside to shake off onto the marble floor beneath their feet.

 

“Adrian and I were just discussing these horrific murders,” Adams goes on somberly, joining them in the middle of the room. “We were thinking he might be able to help you with the court processes from here on out.”

 

“I used to be a prosecutor,” Adrian explains, placing his own hands in the pockets of his suit pants with more grace than Felicity had managed. He shrugs a little as he continues, “I know a few judges with whom I have a good relationship. I’m sure they’d be willing to push your orders through the system a little faster once they know which case it’s regarding.”

 

“Well, I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes,” Felicity says, suddenly feeling a little unsure of her request. Maybe it’s the addition of another connection to Mayor Adams in Adrian Chase. Or maybe it’s just too easy. She knows she’ll end up paying for it later.

 

“Nonsense,” Adams insists. “Adrian here is happy to help, aren’t you?”

 

Adrian nods at Adams before turning his gaze onto Felicity. He gives her that same smile again, warm and accommodating. It doesn’t come off as sharp as Adams’, so if he wants something from her he’s better at hiding it. Still, Felicity is hesitant to just trust him.

 

Regardless, she did come here for help.

 

So, when Adrian says, “I’d more than happy to offer my assistance,” Felicity just nods and lets him talk her through the plan for which judge they’ll need to reach out to.

 

\---

 

“Where are you again?”

 

Felicity sighs as she steps into the Medical Examiner’s office and shakes the collected rain water from her coat. It still hasn’t stopped coming down in it’s slow and consistent pattern and, judging from the clouds overhead, there is no end in sight. She waves to the woman working the front desk as she shakes her umbrella out over the rug.

 

“Starling City,” Felicity answers as she passes by the desk to head towards the exam room she’d been using to study the device. “It’s in Washington. The state, not the district.”

 

“Ooh,” Cisco whistles, the sound turning to static over the speaker on her phone. “The Golden Coast.”

 

“It’s the Pacific Northwest, Cisco,” she laughs. “I’ll be lucky if I even see the sun again before we finally wrap this case up and I head home.”

 

“Yeah, well, keep an eye out for vampires up there,” he comments and Felicity pauses in the middle of the hallway, a few feet from the exam room she’d been heading towards. She frowns, tilting her head to the side, even as Cisco can’t actually see her.

 

“Did you just make a  _ Twilight _ reference?” She asks and he lets out a heavy sigh on the other end of the line.

 

“Yes and I deeply regret it,” he huffs out and she laughs again, continuing on her path and pushing through the metal swinging doors into the exam room. 

 

There’s an autopsy table in the middle of the room that is, blessedly, free of anything dead besides the broken down piece of tech. It’s where Felicity left it, which is good, but that’s definitely not proper protocol. She’d been so tired when she’d left two nights ago, she hadn’t thought to pack it back up and put it away. She figures she has Schwartz to thank for its untouched state.

 

“Anyway,” Cisco says, trying to draw her attention away from the unfortunate pop culture reference. Embarrassingly, she wonders how far Forks  _ is _ from Starling City. “Wanna explain what you’re dealing with to me again? Refresh my memory.”

 

“Tiny tech, and when I say ‘tiny’, I  _ mean _ ‘tiny’,” she explains holding the phone between her cheek and shoulder as she awkwardly pulls her coat off. “It’s, like, microscopic. It’s being inserted into the spine and creating an electric shock strong enough to fry not only the victim’s neural circuitry, but its own internal wiring as well.”

 

Cisco whistles again and the sound dissolves into silence on his end. Felicity slides onto the stool in front of where the device is broken apart under the insane magnifying glass she’d been using. It’s almost not there without some level of magnification, which makes sense considering they think it’s being inserted with a syringe. Still, it needs to be a pretty big needle to reach the spinal cord and allow the device to embed into it.

 

“Well, I’ve never heard of something like that before,” he says finally and she knows him well enough to know he’s sifted through the veritable rolodex of interesting tech in his head and come up empty. Just like she had when she’d first read the case.

 

“Yeah, me neither,” she sighs. “Honestly, I kind of thought I’d get here, look at the tech, get a sense of what it was and, boom. Be on my way back home.”

 

“I’m guessing it’s been a delayed boom,” he offers, earning another sigh from her. “Well, listen, if you let me get a look I can consult, but I don’t know how much I’ll be able to tell you if you can’t even figure it out.”

 

“Even just a second set of eyes is helpful,” she admits. Pushing off of the chair again, she moves for her abandoned bag to pull her tablet and an AV cord out of it. “Give me two minutes to hook my tablet up to the computers here and I’ll send you a video chat request.”

 

“Alright, I’ll be here,” Cisco says and she ends the call. 

 

Setting her phone aside, she gets to work hooking her tablet up to the computer and getting herself connected to the hotspot on her phone. The M.E.’s office has wifi, but she’s hesitant to trust it to offer a clear enough picture for Cisco. Once it’s set up, she works on getting the webcam set up to look down at the device through the magnifying glass.

 

“Agent Smoak, my assistant mentioned she’d seen you head down here,” Schwartz says, startling Felicity with the entrance. She presses her hand to her heart, laughing at herself for the response and turning to face the doctor.

 

“Hi, yeah,” she greets, nodding and waving a hand towards the device. “I have a friend doing a long distance consult on the tech, so I was just getting it set up for him.”

 

“Well, I wanted to let you know that I had my team get all of the devices together for you to look at,” Schwartz explains. “Including the most recent one.”

 

“Oh, that’s super helpful!” Felicity says, grinning at the doctor. She had been trying to get the devices released into her purview, but it had been a lot of red tape to try and circumnavigate. “Thank you!”

 

“Of course,” Schwartz nods, smiling in amusement at Felicity’s excitement. “I’ll have someone bring them down to you.”

 

Felicity calls her thanks again as Schwartz disappears through the doors, leaving one of them swinging behind her. She spins and gets the webcam set up before calling Cisco on Skype.

 

\---

 

It feels like they’ve been staring at the broken down devices for ages. One of Schwartz’s techs had brought down the other three devices. Felicity had painstakingly broken each one down while Cisco watched, trying to keep an eye out for anything she might miss. At some point, she had ordered in some lunch, which the woman from the front desk had very nicely brought down to her when it had been delivered and she lost track of time.

 

Cisco lets out a frustrated groan and Felicity nods in agreement, stabbing a sushi roll with one of her chopsticks.

 

“Maybe if they weren’t so small or we had better equipment,” he huffs and Felicity looks up at the screen to see him spinning his chair in a circle, tugging his hands through his shoulder length hair. “Two verified geniuses with no idea what we’re looking for in a jumble of fried wires and circuit boards.”

 

“If just one of them had a working computer chip or circuit board, I could pull some sort of data off of it,” she complains. “But I don’t think Starling City has ever known good luck.”

 

“There has to be a better way to do this,” Cisco sighs, straightening in his chair again. He laces his fingers together, turning his palms outward and pushing until his knuckles crack. Felicity cringes at the sound over the computer’s speakers. “Let’s stop trying to focus on them as one entity and look at them like separate tech.”

 

“You’re thinking maybe there’s something we’re missing because their similarities are blurring together?” She asks, setting her chopsticks to the side and reaching for a fresh pair of latex gloves. Cisco shrugs, shaking out his hands.

 

“Maybe,” he says. “Can’t hurt to rule it out.”

 

“Okay,” Felicity nods, reaching for the metal tray with from the most recent victim. Jason Brodeur. She settles the tray under the camera and pushes the other three carefully to the other end of the table. “Victim number four. The most recent one. He was the only one that anyone actually saw die.”

 

She picks up a pair of tweezers and picks through the dismantled device meticulously. Cisco makes comments about wire types and the patterns of internal frying. The electric shock was strong enough that some spots within the casing have turned black with soot.

 

“Wait,” Cisco says at the same moment Felicity freezes. Because she sees it, too. “Is that what I think it is?”

 

She clears away the rest of the metal, plastic, and wires as carefully as she can in her haste to isolate what they’ve spotted. Cisco sucks in a sharp breath as Felicity picks it up with the tweezers and holds it up for better view beneath the magnifying glass.

 

“A remote trigger,” he announces and Felicity nods in agreement, dread settling heavy in her stomach. She can hear the frown in his voice as he asks, “That’s bad, right?”

 

“So, so bad,” Felicity says, nodding numbly as she stares at the tiny mass of metal. “It means the killer could be setting these things off from anywhere.”


	7. Chapter Six

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity presents Oliver with what she's discovered and the team raids Blackhawk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so! let's not talk about arrow last night, shall we? i'm still recovering ugh. anyway, yay new chapter!! i'm desperately trying to stay ahead of my upload schedule but school is. ugh. work is... more ugh! at least i'm on track for right now!
> 
> a note on this chapter; keep in mind we're seeing events from oliver's pov here and he, obviously, can't know what's going on in felicity's mind right now. it might be easy to think of her as a pawn in someone else's game from this side of the fence, but this is felicity smoak we're talking about! okay? okay great!

“Oliver, we need to talk.”

 

Felicity doesn’t bother with preamble as she comes walking towards his desk at as fast of a clip as she can manage without actually running in her heels. Which are, he notes with some amusement, leopard print pumps. Panic flares in his chest for a moment as her words register and he frowns up at her. He had figured that last night was what it was - a sharing of stories and, admittedly, an acceptance of the attraction between them - but perhaps now that she’s sober again, Felicity has decided they need to discuss it.

 

His thoughts must show on his face because she freezes next to his desk, shooting a furtive glance over at Dinah’s empty chair.

 

“No, not about-,” she starts, cutting herself off and seeming to rethink the words. “It’s about the device. I was going over it with the friend from S.T.A.R. Labs I told you about and we found something.”

 

“What is it?” He asks, frowning up at her. She tugs at the chair next to his desk, sliding it across the floor until it’s situated next to his own desk chair. As she settles into it, she pulls a tablet computer from within her purse and settles it in front of her as she pulls up a few photos of the devices, broken down under magnification.

 

“Okay, see this?” She asks, pointing towards a small bit of one of the devices. It looks like a charred bit of plastic and, when Oliver only frowns at her, Felicity uses to brightly painted fingers to zoom in further on the photo. She explains, “It’s a remote trigger.”

 

Oliver’s stomach sinks. He’d had an inkling that maybe the devices didn’t require contact to activate from the witness statements at Brodeur’s scene, but he had hoping he was wrong.

 

“Which device is this?” He asks.

 

“Jason Brodeur,” Felicity tells him, swiping to another photo that shows the device a little better. “I have Alena working on trying to figure out what the range is, but it may be too damaged to give us anything substantial.”

 

“Was this the first device to have a trigger?” He presses, frowning at the side of her face as her eyes move over the photo she presumably took. “Why didn’t we notice this in the others?”

 

“The other devices did have it, but,” she hesitates, chewing on her lip. Oliver watches the movement, waiting for her to continue. “But I was wrong before. He is still trying to figure out how to perfect his technique.”

 

“What makes you think that?” He frowns.

 

When she had shown up, she had been so sure that the technique was already perfected. So far, Schwartz and her team hadn’t found any matching deaths, but Felicity had suggested they could be dealing with someone with super intelligence as well.

 

“I was looking at the differences between the devices to try and figure out if the first three had a remote trigger,” she explains, holding the tablet out for him to take. He does, but she reaches over him, swiping through the pictures to illustrate her point. “Look at the difference in charring on the devices internal wiring. It’s why no one could tell that there was a remote trigger. The frying of the inside of the device was so bad, everything just looked like plastic and metal.”

 

“What does that mean?” Oliver asks, swiping back and forth through the pictures himself. He can see what she means by the change in burns to the inside of the devices. Each one gets a little less blackened until Brodeur’s device, which shows minimal charring to the metal and plastic even though the wiring is still fried.

 

“It means he’s been sending smaller shocks each time,” she says. “I think he’s trying to figure out the most effective way to kill them without using an unnecessary amount of charge.”

 

“That’s bad,” he comments, staring down at the photos on the tablet. He’d landed on a photo from the first device - Adam Hunt. The charring is especially bad, the device almost completely incinerated within its metal casing. When he looks up, Felicity is watching him, waiting for further explanation. “Typically, killers like this, they start to escalate, right? It’s like a drug that loses the affect the more you take. So, they start killing more frequently, more viciously, chasing the high from the first kill.”

 

“So, if our killer is trying to make their killings less vicious, then they must have some incredible control,” Felicity considers and Oliver shrugs, his brow furrowing as the heavy feeling in his stomach grows, expands outwards into his chest.

 

“Or it’s not about release,” he says. “So, the question then is; What is it about?”

 

Felicity’s eyes dip as she considers the question. Oliver doesn’t have an answer yet, but he knows she’s searching for one in everything they know about the case so far. He doubts she’ll find one, not because she isn’t capable, but they don’t have enough information. Which has been the problem with this case from the beginning. Every answered question feels like it comes with ten new ones.

 

“What’s what about?” He hears someone ask above them and Felicity startles, broken from her reverie. Her eyes meet Oliver’s before they both look to see the newcomer. Oliver’s stomach twists in a new, even more uncomfortable way at the sight of Adrian Chase standing above Felicity, looking down at her with a warm crinkle to his eyes.

 

It’s not about Felicity, he decides. He’s just never trusted Chase and he doesn’t particularly like the idea of sharing details with the District Attorney before they have answers to some of their questions. Felicity shifts in her chair to face Chase more fully.

 

“Oh, um, just a puzzle we’re working on,” she says, answering first and Oliver feels a sudden flash of gratefulness at her deflection. She doesn’t know how Felicity knows Chase - he’d guess through association with the mayor, a relationship he still hasn’t asked her about - but he’s glad to know she’s not just spilling case details to Adams’ lackies.

 

“Well, three heads are better than two, right?” Chase presses, a lighthearted smile taking over his features. He’s still focused on Felicity, whose mouth opens slightly as she tries to come up with an excuse. Oliver decides to cut to the chase, no pun intended.

 

“Did you need something, Adrian?” He asks, finally gaining the other man’s attention. Chase nods, producing a yellow envelope from behind his back and holding it out. Felicity is the one who grabs it, her fingers taking the envelope carefully.

 

“I managed to get your search warrant for Blackhawk streamlined,” he explains and Felicity turns the envelope over, bending the metal fastens and opening the flap to pull the document from within. “The IP address order is still caught in processing, but I figured you guys would want this as soon as possible.”

 

Felicity’s eyes widen a touch in surprise as she pulls the document from within the folder. She scans over it before handing it over to Oliver. He does the same, skimming the familiar words of the warrant and double checking the signature at the bottom. He recognizes the name of the judge.

 

“With a group like Blackhawk,” Chase comments, pulling Oliver’s attention back to him. He motions casually towards the paper. “You might want to move quickly.”

 

“I’ll get McKenna and we’ll get a team together,” Oliver nods, standing from his seat. Felicity follows, standing as well, but Chase stops her.

 

“Agent Smoak, while the department readies their team, maybe we should get out of their way,” he suggest and Felicity gives a hesitant shrug. Oliver frowns at her.

 

“You’re not coming?” He asks, surprised at the disappointment that she won’t be taking on Blackhawk with them.

 

“I’m not a field agent,” she explains, shaking her head. “It wouldn’t be protocol.”

 

“We can get coffee,” Chase offers. “Keep out of the department’s way.”

 

“Oh, uh,” Felicity says, frowning. She shoots one last look towards Oliver and he sees the hesitance in her face. He frowns back at her, but she turns back to nod at Chase. “Sure.”

 

\---

 

McKenna had been the one to request the warrant with Dinah’s help, so she’s the one who builds the team that will be accompanying them onto the premises. Blackhawk isn’t just a normal office building they’ve been denied access to, it’s filled with weapon-carrying employees and likely stocked with the sorts of tools their contractors expect them to use to keep themselves or their properties protected.

 

They pull up to the building in a set of marked cars and McKenna tosses a bulletproof vest from the trunk at Oliver as he rounds the car. He avoids the urge to complain as he straps it uncomfortably across his chest. McKenna, Dinah, and the handful of officers they’ve brought with them do the same as they file towards the entrance to the building.

 

It looms over them as they near. The rain, stopped momentarily, has left the glass of the building sparkling with leftover droplets, catching the sunlight and reflecting it back at the clouds. Dinah leads the group through the doors, a dark smirk on her face that Oliver recognizes for its smugness. They’ve bested Blackhawk this time.

 

A young kid who looks fresh out of basic training hops up from his seat behind some sort of welcome desk, already waving his hands a little erratically at the sudden police presence making their way into the building. He looks over them with wild eyes, opens his mouth to say something, and then appears to think better of it because he reaches instead for the phone on his desk.

 

“I need Mr. Knox in the atrium,” he says, staring down Dinah as she approaches the desk, the search warrant held aloft. “The police are here.”

 

He slams the phone back down into its cradle and Dinah tilts her head at him, pushing the search warrant across the desk towards him. He doesn’t bother to pick it up, trying to affect a hard attitude as he looks over them. His chin tilts upwards and Oliver recognizes the straightening of his shoulders, the posturing of a kid who doesn’t know when to quit.

 

“That’s a warrant to search the building,” Oliver says, tiring quickly of the silent staredown going on between his partner and this kid who doesn’t know any better. “It’s easier for everyone if you just let us through.”

 

The kid shifts uncomfortably, but reaches for the document on the desk. He pulls it towards himself, his eyes moving over it too quickly to actually be reading the words. Finally, he nods at them, only a slight shake to the movement.

 

On the other end of the atrium, the elevator dings with the arrival of a car and Oliver looks over just as the doors slide open. A man steps out of it, sliding between the doors before they’ve even opened fully. He’s a large man with a round face, his eyes tight and narrow. There’s a clear bump at his hip underneath his ill fitting suit jacket that Oliver pegs as a concealed weapon.

 

“Alvarez!” He barks as he crosses the room towards the desk. The boy tenses up, his shoulders straightening as the man approaches him. “What the hell is going on here?”

 

“Mr. Blake,” the kid, Alvarez, responds hesitantly. Blake’s eyes have narrowed in on their small group, eyes moving over each other them in turn. “They- they were just-”

 

“Presenting you with a search warrant for the building,” Oliver supplies, cutting off the poor kid’s stuttering. He reaches around McKenna, snagging the warrant back from Alvarez and holding it out to Blake instead. He seems to be higher up than Alvarez anyway.

 

“You’re kidding,” Blake scoffs, taking the document between large fingers. Oliver sees the page wrinkle in his tight grip and figures he’s not feeling as light about their appearance as he’s trying to seem.

 

“Well, you can try to call the judge to make sure it’s legit, if you want,” McKenna suggests, her hand on her weapon at her hip. “In the meantime, my detectives are going to have a look around.”

 

The document crinkles further, Blake’s fingers clenching tighter around it, but he gives them a terse nod. Oliver tilts his head towards the hallway behind Alvarez’s desk which appears to lead to the warehouse out back, motioning for the uniformed officers to take a look.

 

“Where’s Knox?” Dinah asks, her own hands settling at her hips.

 

“He left for a meeting about twenty minutes ago,” Blake explains, tossing the warrant back at Alvarez who fumbles to catch the floating paper before it inevitably settles onto the desk in front of him instead.

 

Oliver pivots on his foot, a hot annoyance flaring in his chest as he makes a note to have someone check Knox’s secretary’s calendar for an appointment. It’s too much of a coincidence that Knox managed to bail just before they got there. A coincidence Oliver is becoming too familiar with.

 

For now, he sets his interest on the elevator on the opposite side of the room.

 

“Where does that elevator lead?” He asks, pointing towards it and drawing Blake’s attention. His mouth twists in some sort of negative response to the question, but he catches himself and lets the muscles in his jaw relax.

 

“Storage,” he grunts out and Oliver raises an eyebrow at him.

 

“Storage like the the huge warehouse out back?” He presses, earning a narrow-eyed glare from the man.

 

“ _ More _ storage,” he offers instead, so Oliver turns and crosses towards the elevator in question. He taps the black plastic square that forms the card reader twice with his index finger, tossing a pointed look over at Blake.

 

“Then you shouldn’t mind us taking a look,” Oliver says. “Open it.”

 

With one last glare tossed at Alvarez, Blake stalks over towards where Oliver waits in front of the elevator. Dinah and McKenna move with him, bracketing him on either side, both of their hands still rest instinctually over their firearms.

 

Blake steps up, inserting his large, round form between Oliver and the key card reader. He pulls his card out, making a show of fumbling with his wallet in search of the security key. Oliver catches McKenna and Dinah share a look behind his back.

 

Finally, he swipes it through the slot in the plastic and it gives a short  _ beep _ before the elevator doors slide open. The group steps within, Blake following after the detectives and their lieutenant. Oliver pivots inside, taking lead in front of the car, closest to the doors as they slide closed again.

 

He focuses on his blurry reflection in the metal doors and then, with only a small jerk, the elevator car is moving downwards.

 

\---

 

It’s unsurprising that the secret lower level of Blackhawk is filled with ill gotten weapons and stashes of unaccounted for cash. Oliver had been expecting as much when Felicity and Dinah had mentioned the lower level. What is surprising is that they had even managed to find it. Sure, Knox is in the wind but, in terms of large busts of huge organizations, this is the first one the SCPD has managed in…

 

Honestly, Oliver isn’t even sure how long.

 

Either way, they need to focus on finding Knox. His disappearance is likely tied to the knowledge that they were coming after him for the money and the weapons, but they can’t rule out that he ran because he knows more about Gaynor’s death than he’d let on. Oliver leaves a few officers at the scene with implicit instruction not to let anyone touch any of the computers on-site until he said so.

 

He needs someone outside of the department to confirm what he thinks he knows.

 

McKenna and Dinah had stayed at Blackhawk to talk to employees and figure out who knew what and who needs to be detained for questioning. When he enters the open atrium of the police station, he spots Felicity immediately. She’s leaning against the welcome desk with one hip, comfortable with a paper cup stamped with the logo from a local coffee shop in her hand.

 

But it’s not her posture or the bright color of her coat that pulls his attention, it’s the sound of her laugh echoing across the space. Her face is split in a wide grin, but she covers it with her hand, trying to suppress the sound.

 

Chase is standing in front of her, his own coffee in his hand as he leans against the desk as well. He’s leaning forward just so, a touch too far into Felicity’s space to be entirely unintentional. His head is tilted to the side, his smile more subtle and charming as he studies her.

 

An uncomfortable tightness settles over Oliver’s chest, stalling him in the doorway. Yesterday, he and Felicity had stood in nearly the same spot as he’d angrily told her to leave him be. The memory sits in contrast to the casual way she’s chatting with Chase, an ease to her smile that Oliver doesn’t think he’s seen on her since she’d introduced herself two days ago.

 

_ That’s your fault _ , a dark voice in his mind reminds him. He thinks of last night, the dangerous step forward they’d allowed themselves before stumbling three back. Whether it was his sudden welcoming or the alcohol, she’d seemed happy to sit there with him. He doesn’t need to be getting attached to her as anything more than an asset to the case. But, damn if he isn’t having trouble keeping himself from wanting to.

 

He’s having trouble remembering the last time someone had made him feel this way.

 

He forces his feet to move, taking him further into the entryway, and Felicity must spot the movement because she glances over at the door. She must have been waiting for one of them to come back and tell her what happened. She sets her coffee down on the desk and moves away from Chase, meeting Oliver in the middle of the room instead.

 

The tenseness in his chest loosens a bit as she reaches him, Chase forgotten behind her, even as he tries not to feel too smug about it. It’s the case she wants to know about. Still, he forces himself not to react when she reaches out, her hand brushing down his arm as she reaches him.

 

“Hey,” she says, soft and discrete. For a moment, Oliver lets himself entertain the idea that the gesture, the quiet greeting - it’s all very intimate. And then he reminds himself of their reality. If Felicity notices the turmoil of his thoughts, she doesn’t say anything, instead continuing with a question, “What happened? Did you guys find anything?”

 

“Yeah,” Oliver nods. She retracts her hand from his arm, raising her eyebrows as she waits for him to elaborate. “Turns out the secret elevator led to an illegal weapons cache and a lot of stashed money.”

 

“Huh,” Felicity breathes and he waits, because he can see the same considerations he’d made moving through her own mind. Couldn’t more different and yet still so alike. A crinkle forms in her brow as she looks up at him. “I guess that’s enough to end Financial Crimes’ investigation into them.”

 

“More than,” Oliver agrees. Financial Crimes had been investigating Blackhawk for over a year, trying to find someway to pin their suspicions on the security company. They’d never had enough to go on before to search the property or do more than annoy a few employees. Still, they had been certain there was something more to Blackhawk, due to several similar suggestions from different Confidential Informants.

 

And Oliver, Felicity, and their team had just stumbled onto the answer thanks to Gaynor’s death.

 

“Listen, do you have a minute?” He asks, dropping his voice as he glances warily over her shoulder to where Chase still stands near the welcome desk. His posture still oozes comfort and calm, but Oliver can tell he’s focused on them. “I need to speak with you in private.”

 

“Yeah, sure,” she nods. She pivots, maybe to say goodbye to Chase, or explain, or just retrieve her left behind coffee. The tightness in Oliver’s chest flairs again and he reaches out before he can stop himself, his fingers wrapping over her wrist, tightening just enough to stop her.

 

Her head whips around, ponytail nearly catching him in the chin as she spins, surprised at the contact. He drops her wrist as if it’s burned him, but maintains eye contact.

 

“It’s urgent,” he says, trying not to snap but knowing it comes off that way. “You can catch D.A. Chase up later if you think you need to.”

 

She pulls her chin back just a bit, narrowing her eyes at him. Oliver knows he’s shown too much of his hand and can now only pray she’ll have mercy on him. Still, he doesn’t back down, waiting her out. Finally, she nods instead of calling his behavior out.

 

“Okay,” she says. “Lead the way.”

 

He does, turning and directing her towards the stairs. He leads her down them, in the same way he might if they were going to the tech department, but he takes a sharp turn that leads them instead into the locker rooms. Felicity lets out a quiet noise when she realizes and he turns to find her stalling in the doorway, her eyes flickering between him and the sign outside very clearly marked  **_MEN_ ** . Despite himself, he chuckles at her.

 

“Relax, Felicity,” he says, crossing towards one of the showers. He turns the tap and steps away from it water begins to pour from the spout. The poor pressure of it makes it sound like buckets being poured down onto the tile, the sound loud and overcoming. He moves back towards her, encouraging her into the room with a small hand wave.

 

“I just don’t want us to be overheard,” he explains. “No one really uses these showers anyway.”

 

“Yeah, they probably shouldn’t,” she comments, looking over the state of disrepair the locker room remains in and wrinkling her nose. “I don’t even want to think about the amount of fungus this room probably contains.”

 

Oliver frowns and decides not to mention that when he’d said ‘no one’, he’d really just meant no one but him.

 

“I just didn’t want us to be overheard,” he says instead and Felicity frowns.

 

“Overheard doing what?” She asks, dropping her voice to an exaggerated whisper. Before he can answer, she flinches, rushing on to correct the innuendo only she had noticed, “I meant  _ saying _ what. Not that I thought that you and I would be…  _ doing _ anything that would involve… noises…”

 

Oliver blinks at her and she squeezes her eyes shut.

 

“Please tell me what’s going on before I drown myself in that shower,” she says, pointing in the direction of the running shower. Her eyes still closed, Oliver grins at her and shakes his head.

 

“Knox wasn’t there when we showed up with the search warrant,” he explains.

 

“Well, that’s good timing,” Felicity offers dryly, switching back to the case from her own embarrassment.

 

“Yeah, apparently he had a meeting in his calendar,” he says. “His secretary confirmed it, but it’s way too coincidental.”

 

“You want me to check the timestamp on the calendar and see when the appointment was added?” She asks, shrugging when he nods. “Yeah, no problem. But it does seem like something that one of your more tech savvy officers could do.”

 

“I need someone outside of the department looking into this,” he says and Felicity’s eyes narrow.

 

“Because you think it was someone inside the department that tipped him off,” she says with dawning understanding. “Right. It would have had to have been someone who knew about the search warrant.”

 

“Half the department knew about it,” he sighs, rubbing a hand frustratedly over his jaw. “Not to mention the judge who signed it, the D.A.’s office, the mayor’s office.”

 

“So, we’re not short on suspects,” Felicity points out unhelpfully. Oliver tilts his head, eyes slipping shut tiredly. He startles at the feeling of her index finger prodding gently against the top of his sternum where his tie lies. When he opens his eyes, she’s standing just a touch closer, smirking up at him.

 

Something wicked and warm moves through him and he swears it’s point of origin is her finger pressed against his chest.

 

“Lucky for you, I love a mystery.”

 

\---

 

They wait until McKenna and Dinah return with a handful of arrests and a large group of employees being brought in for more official questioning. Alvarez is among them and Oliver hopes, in that stupid way he has yet to kick the habit of, that the kid knows even less about the company’s illegal activities than they think he does.

 

Once Dinah confirms that the scene has been cleaned and none of the computer systems were touched, he takes Felicity back to the Blackhawk offices. There’s an officer on duty, keeping an eye on the property and watching for stragglers or anyone who may think of sneaking into the crime scene. Oliver and Felicity move past him easily with a short greeting.

 

They take the elevator up to the office suites and find Knox’s secretary’s desk. Felicity slides into the spinning computer chair, pulling the keyboard towards herself easily. A password screen comes up as the computer boots.

 

“Can you get through that?” Oliver asks, not interested in spending the time it would take to get a password from the secretary herself.

 

“Oh yeah,” Felicity nods. “It’s been a while since I had to break through a password encryption with brute force, though, so it could take a hot minute.”

 

Oliver nods, motioning for her to do it. He rounds the desk, away from Felicity, to grab himself a chair from one of the neighboring desks. By the time he pulls his chair up next to hers and settles into it, the computer beeps with acceptance and loads to the desktop.

 

“A hot minute, huh?” Oliver asks, raising and eyebrow at her.

 

“Guess I’m not as rusty as I thought,” she says, glancing over at him with a smirk. “Alright, let’s see if we can’t find her calendar.”

 

It takes a few minutes of sifting through the files and programs on the computer (“What kind of assistant doesn’t use desktop icons?” Felicity had grumbled) but they eventually find the calendar application. It’s already pulled up to today, so all Felicity has to do is scroll slightly upwards to the time of Knox’s supposed meeting.

 

“Well, the meeting exists at least,” she says, biting down on the corner of her lip as she clicks on the deep blue box. It expands to show more information. “Looks like with was a Jacob Wright at Kord Industries.”

 

She’s already opened a browser, inputting Wright’s name to try and find out more information on him. Oliver decides to fill in the gaps in her knowledge about Starling.

 

“Kord is a tech engineering firm,” he explains. “They make everything from smart watches to military grade weapons. It makes sense that they would contract with Blackhawk for security, even outside of Blackhawk’s extra legal affairs.”

 

Felicity hums in acknowledgement, but she’s got the webpage for Kord Industries open and a code running through it. Oliver hadn’t even seen her open another program. The text scans almost impossibly fast, but somehow she seems to be keeping up with it.

 

“Yeah, there’s just one problem with that,” she says finally and Oliver frowns at her. “The only Jacob Wright even mentioned on Kord’s employment page is from a cached version of the webpage from two months ago. Wright did work for Kord, but he doesn’t anymore.”

 

“Can you find out when the calendar appointment was added?” Oliver asks.

 

“I can look through the program files for old saved versions of the calendar and try to find it,” she nods. “But, it’s gonna be a little tedious.”

 

Oliver sighs, leaning back in his chair.

 

“With Knox in the wind and no line on our mysterious message board poster, we’ve got all the time in the world,” he says and Felicity nods before getting to work. 

 

He tries to watch what she’s doing, but the speed at which she does it has his head spinning. There’s no doubting her skill, but it’s not very entertaining when the text and mouse moves across the screen faster than he can keep track of it.

 

Instead, he finds himself zoning out until suddenly his eyes are dropping closed, the exhaustion of the past weeks overcoming him. The sound of Felicity’s fingers moving over the keyboard turns into a comforting rhythm and then the world goes dark.

 

\---

 

“Oliver.”

 

He wakes to a soft voice gently calling his name. Finger wrap around his wrist, squeezing with a gently pressure and surprisingly cold at their tips. He thinks his phone is vibrating against his leg. It all pulls him back to the present.

 

Felicity is hovering over him, pressed up in her chair to lean over his. It’s her fingers that are wrapped around his wrist, her voice softly calling his name. He entertains the idea of letting himself drift back to sleep with those sensations.

 

He sits up and she pulls her hand back, settling back into her chair. A little embarrassed at having fallen asleep, he clears his throat.

 

“Sorry,” he says, voice still rough despite his efforts. Felicity shakes her head.

 

“Don’t worry about it,” she assures him, a frown turning the corners of her red lips downwards. “When’s the last time you got a full night’s rest?”

 

“Long before you met me,” he grunts, trying for levity but she’s smart enough to catch the honesty in his words. He ignores it. “What did you find?”

 

“I found a cached version of the file from this morning,” she explains, pointing towards the screen. “The meeting didn’t exist in the calendar at 8 a.m. It’s not a smoking gun, but-”

 

“It’s enough to confirm my hunch, as far as I’m concerned,” he says. His phone begins to vibrate in his pocket again and he frowns, leaning back in the chair to pull it from the hard to reach pocket. Dinah’s name scrolls across the screen.

 

“And, just so that we’re on the same page here,” Felicity starts, her focus still on the screen. Oliver hits ignore on the call, resolving to call her back once they’ve managed one problem. Felicity looks over at him as she continues, “What exactly is your hunch?”

 

“We were supposed to take down Blackhawk,” he says, setting his phone on the desk in front of them. “But someone made sure that Knox got himself out of the picture.”

 

“Someone like who, though?” Felicity presses, spinning fully in her chair to face him. Her knees knock against his, but the determination in her eyes makes him guess she didn’t even notice. “Who would care enough to make sure Knox wouldn’t end up on the chopping block?”

 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out,” he says, dropping his voice. There aren’t very many walls in this city that don’t have ears. “Somewhere in the department or along the chain of command is someone playing it like a game of chess. And I feel like I’ve been losing since before I even knew I was part of the game.”

 

“That’s an apt metaphor,” she comments quietly to herself. His phone begins to vibrate on the desk again and he huffs out a sigh. He reaches for it, but Felicity’s voice stops him. “Oliver, there’s something else.”

 

“What?” He asks, picking the phone up. Dinah’s name is coming up again and he figures it must be urgent, but they all have their hands full at the moment.

 

“This computer belongs to Knox’s secretary,” she says and Oliver nods because, well, yeah. “Who used to be Gaynor’s secretary. Which means it still has a copy of Gaynor’s calendar.”

 

“Okay,” he says, looking between her and the computer screen once, twice. “So?”

 

“ _ So _ ,” she huffs. “That calendar has all of Gaynor’s appointments from the time leading up to his death. And, while most of it is unhelpful corporate ass-kissing, there was one specific appointment that stuck out to me.”

 

She clicks the mouse, pulling up a new calendar window. Double clicking on an appointment in the calendar, it expands its view and Oliver reads the name of the person Gaynor had met with.

 

“Captain Lance,” he breathes, reading the name again as if he could have read it wrong.

 

“This game may have existed long before either of us were even on the board,” she says next to him. He stares at the screen for a moment longer before looking over at her instead. There’s a frown pulling at her mouth as she watches him.

 

“Oliver, there’s something I should tell you,” she starts hesitantly, but never gets the chance to finish.

 

His phone vibrating for a fourth time is suddenly almost violent where it’s clutched in the palm of his hand. It startles him and he finally swipes at the screen, answering the call.

 

“What?” He bites.

 

“Oliver, dispatch just got a call about a gunshot wound that was brought into Starling General,” Dinah says, ignoring his tone. “The vic is in surgery to remove the bullet right now.”

 

She takes a deep breath and Oliver’s chest tightens before she even manages to get the words out.

 

“It’s John Diggle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really, really hope you're all still enjoying this!! i think i've got most plot things almost 100% nailed down, but sometimes the characters also just do whatever they want - which is, honestly, one of my favorite things! either way, i'm really excited for where we're headed!
> 
> i will tease this; in the next chapter, we'll get into felicity's head more and her motivations will, hopefully, become more clear. and we're finally getting to something everyone has been yelling about in the comments, yay!!
> 
> thanks so much for reading, everyone! let me know what you think!!


	8. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver await news on John and the weight of her own secrets begins to drag Felicity down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see! Ah, sorry, guys. I'm steadily coasting towards the end of the semester and I've just been swamped with all the things I have to finish. Honestly, moving forward, for the next month-ish, this story might not be on a weekly update schedule. I might have to start staggering it to every two weeks until things begin to calm down.
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is fun! ...That's probably not the right word considering the cliff I left you all hanging on in the last one, but I think it's a solid chapter. Some stuff happens, some characters get introduced (well, okay, one). Something a lot of you have been waiting for finally happens, so, yay!
> 
> Happy reading!!

Felicity has forgotten what to do with her hands. It’s a nervous tic. As soon as she begins to feel off kilter, it’s like all natural body movements fly from her brain. Where do they sit naturally? In her pockets, at her sides, folded in her lap? Unsure, she just moves them nearly incessantly which, at least, gives her something to do.

 

Oliver is handling the situation differently. Not that their feelings about the whole ordeal are comparable, considering Felicity barely knows John Diggle. But, Oliver sits stock-still. At Blackhawk, he’d leaned comfortably in the computer chair while she worked, content enough to drift off for a few minutes. She’d been remiss to wake him.

 

Now, he’s ramrod straight. His hands are at his knees, the occasional clenching of his fingers around his patellas the only sign that he’s not a surprisingly life-like statue. Felicity figures he must see her constant movement from the corner of his eye, that it must be driving him crazy as much as it is her, but she can't bring herself to stop.

 

McKenna had stopped by at one point, right after they’d gotten to the hospital following Dinah’s phone call, and assured him that she would be overseeing John’s case herself. She’d told him that Dinah was already at the scene, keeping a close eye and looking for witnesses, and Felicity got the feeling that these were the two people Oliver trusted to handle such an important case.

 

It occurs to her that maybe she should have gone with McKenna to the scene of the shooting, but the thought hadn’t crossed her mind when the Lieutenant had left the hospital. Oliver had sunk back into his chair and Felicity hadn’t even thought to leave him there.

 

Finally, it becomes too much. She leans forward abruptly, her hand falling over one of his where it grips his knee. It startles him, she can tell because he flinches like he might pull away from the contact, but he doesn’t.

 

“Do you need anything?” She asks. “Something tangible, I mean. Material. A coffee or some Jell-O? That’s a hospital thing, right? Jell-O?”

 

He looks over at her with a pinch to his brow, like he’s surprised to find her there. Maybe he’d thought she’d left, or maybe he’d expected her to. She wonders, sadly, how accustomed he is to being alone.

 

He opens his mouth as if to say something, but his voice fails him. Felicity squeezes his hand, her fingers folding into the space between his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing his tight grip on his knee loose. He’s still tense, unsure of the touch, but lets her lift his hand away.

 

She doesn’t know what to say and, for the moment, she lets the silence linger.

 

“Oliver!”

 

Someone down the hall calling out breaks the moment. Oliver’s fingers tighten around hers for just an instant before letting go completely. Felicity leans around him, searching for the unfamiliar voice and spotting a woman with short brown hair coming down the hallway. Her movements are calculated, but her speed gives away her haste.

 

Oliver stands from his chair and Felicity follows as the woman reaches them. She halts in front of them and, if Felicity had expected warmth or an embrace between the two, she would have been disappointed. Instead, the woman stands straight, shoulders tight as she crosses her arms over her chest.

 

“Have the doctors told you anything?” She asks. “What’s his condition? Where was he shot?”

 

“He’s in surgery right now,” Oliver explains. “They haven’t told me anything else.”

 

The woman spins anxiously on her heel, like she’s searching for a doctor that hasn’t surfaced yet. Felicity shoots Oliver a confused look, silently asking for some sort of explanation.

 

“This is Lyla,” he says. “John’s wife.”

 

“Ex-wife,” the woman corrects, like it’s a natural instinct, spinning back to them. She holds her hand out and Felicity meets it, startled at the strength hidden in the woman’s frame as she grips Felicity’s hand.

 

“This is Felicity Smoak,” Oliver introduces. “She’s consulting from the FBI.”

 

“Ah, so you’re the ‘Federal lady’ who had some poor officer call me yesterday,” Lyla nods and Felicity grimaces apologetically, glancing over at Oliver to find him frowning in confusion.

 

“I told Captain Lance I would check on John’s alibi for Gaynor’s murder,” she says, motioning towards the other woman. “Lyla was his alibi.” She looks back at Lyla. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.”

 

“I was happy to help,” she says. “And I’ll be even happier to help catch whoever did this to Johnny.”

 

The last part is directed pointedly at Oliver whose shoulders somehow manage to go tighter in response. Felicity frowns between them again, constantly caught missing half of the conversation in this city. At least Oliver has been better at keeping her in the loop since their conversation last night. She hopes John’s injury doesn’t set that back.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” is all he says. 

 

She almost asks. She wants to, so badly, because every time she feels like she’s taken a step forward in understanding this town or Oliver, it feels like she tumbles ten backwards. But it’s the wrong time for her curiosity to be getting the best of her when a man Oliver clearly cares about is somewhere down the hall, unconscious in an operating room.

 

“Do you guys want some coffee?” She asks instead. 

 

Lyla eyes her quizzically, but Oliver’s shoulders slump just the slightest bit and she gets the feeling it was the right choice. She doesn’t bother waiting for a response as she steps around Lyla in search of one of those coffee machines hospitals seem to be dotted with. It’s not the best option, but caffeine is caffeine and she knows Oliver takes his coffee black, anyway. Which leads her to believe he doesn’t have any taste buds.

 

She finds one around the corner from the nurse’s station on the floor and begins filling small styrofoam cups. Wondering vaguely how she’s going to carry three of the full cups back down two hallways to where she’d left Oliver and Lyla, she catches the sound of a familiar voice asking about John Diggle.

 

Peeking around the corner, she sloshes a little bit of the hot coffee onto her hand and hisses as she shakes the liquid away. At the nurse’s station, a blonde in a chair searches her computer for John’s information as Adrian waits on her.

 

Felicity ducks back around the corner, the coffee machine gurgling as it fills the third cup. She bites down on her lip, contemplating her options, before looking up towards the ceiling and giving a heavy, dramatic huff.

 

“Dammit,” she hisses before stepping around the corner and calling out, “Adrian?”

 

He turns at the sound of his name and spots her. He offers her a short wave and a quick smile before saying something to the nurse at the desk, probably assuring her he can find his own way now. When he heads towards her, she hears the coffee machine churn to a stop and steps back around the corner, knowing that Adrian can find her.

 

“Felicity, hey,” he says as he rounds the corner. “I heard about the shooting and that you were here. I wanted to check in on you and Detective Queen - I understand he knows the victim pretty well.”

 

“Oh, yeah, I think we’re all just a little shaken,” she offers, frowning to herself and deciding not to divulge too much of Oliver and John’s history to Adrian, especially when she barely knows it herself. “I was just getting coffee while we waited.”

 

“Do you want a hand?” He asks, already reaching for the third cup and Felicity nods because, well, she didn’t feel like making two trips. Adrian grabs the third cup and reaches over, taking another one from her hand. She tries to protest - she can handle two coffees on her own - but she thinks he’s just trying to be nice.

 

Starling City has already made her wary of nice people.

 

“Lead the way,” he offers, gesturing carefully with one of the coffees. Felicity only hesitates another second before leading him back down the hall the way she’d come.

 

“It was really nice of you to come visit,” she starts as they pass by the nurse’s station and head back down one of the halls she’d come down in search of coffee. “But it’s really not necessary.”

 

“Well, you’ve been handling a lot in a short amount of time since you got here,” he says and she guides them around a corner. “I just want to make sure you aren’t overwhelmed and that you know you have a friend in the city.”

 

“I,” she says as they round the last corner into the hallway where she left the others. Felicity stops with a frown, turning to face Adrian as he stops as well and considering his words. “Thanks, Adrian. I appreciate it.”

 

He offers her a smile and a nod. Felicity continues them on their path, turning to find Lyla has taken up residence in the uncomfortable chair Felicity had vacated next to Oliver. He’s watching them as they come down the hall, a pinch to his brow when she stops in front of him and he looks up at her.

 

She holds out the coffee in her hand to him, holding on a second too long when two of his fingers settle against hers as he takes it from her.

 

His gaze shifts from her to Adrian as he hands one of the coffees off to Lyla. Felicity takes the last one from him for herself.

 

“Adrian, what are you doing here?” Oliver asks and she shoots him a look for the bite in his voice. Adrian must not notice or at least takes it in stride.

 

“I heard about your friend and I wanted to see if I could offer any help,” he explains before turning his attention to Lyla once more. He holds his hand out to her. “Adrian Chase. I’m the D.A.”

 

“Lyla Michaels,” she says, shaking his hand. “John is my ex-husband.”

 

“I’m very sorry to hear about all of this,” Adrian says, nodding at the explanation. “I’m sure Detective Queen and Agent Smoak will be doing everything they can to find whoever did this.”

 

Lyla gives him a tight nod and Felicity figures she’s smart enough not to take anyone’s words at face value. Whether or not she trusts Oliver is unclear, but she doesn’t strike Felicity as the type to trust her or Adrian right off the bat.

 

Before anyone can say anything else, someone down the hall calls out John Diggle’s name. Lyla is on her feet, moving down the hall to meet the doctor who’s appeared. Felicity is still standing in front of Oliver, unintentionally boxing him in, but he stands anyway putting himself suddenly in her space.

 

His gaze is already down the hall, but his hand touches her bicep lightly and she understands the gesture - asking her to stay here. She nods once, pressing lightly at his other arm with her free hand and urging him to follow after Lyla. It leaves her on the other end of the hall with Adrian, but she understands.

 

Things like this? They’re family matters.

 

Adrian seems to understand as well, settling down into one of the plastic chairs. Felicity’s restlessness has spread from her hands to her legs and she chooses to stand, pacing a little as she watches Lyla and Oliver speak with the doctor. There doesn’t appear to be any breaking down, no crying or praying or screaming, so she figures it must not be the worst news it could be.

 

Eventually, Lyla follows the doctor back down the hallway while Oliver returns to them. It’s good timing, too, because Felicity is pretty sure her heels were about to start wearing through the linoleum floor.

 

“What did he say?” She asks, her nerves getting the better of her before Oliver can speak. Adrian has pulled himself from the chair and she can feel him hovering at her shoulder.

 

“John’s out of surgery,” Oliver explains. “They were able to remove the bullet with minimal trouble, but he needs rest. He’s probably gonna be asleep for a while.”

 

“Okay,” Felicity nods. “That’s good. We can give him time to rest and question him about what he remembers when he’s up to it. It might be good for all of us to get some rest, actually.”

 

“Yeah,” he says, frowning and patting at his jacket suddenly, searching. “I think I’m gonna stay with Lyla for a while, just to make sure everything is alright. We’ll need a protective detail on John’s room, so I’ll stick around until that shows up. You should take my car, though, and get some sleep.”

 

He finds his keys finally, holding them out to her. Felicity stares at them in his palm, prepared to insist on staying if he plans to. Adrian beats her to the chase.

 

“I can give her a ride back to her hotel,” he offers behind her and she sees Oliver tense, even as he nods in agreement. Felicity considers arguing, insisting on staying with Oliver until he’s ready to get some rest as well.

 

She reminds herself that it isn’t her place. Oliver had been managing just fine before she’d shown up, surely he doesn’t need her to remind him to sleep and eat and do simple things.

 

“Okay,” she agrees finally, looking over her shoulder to offer Adrian a grateful smile. He steps past her, giving her a moment to say goodbye to Oliver. Before she can second guess the gesture, she reaches forward and wraps her fingers around his wrist.

 

“You are going to go home soon, though, right?” She asks, staring up at him with what she hopes is equal levels of concern and sternness.

 

“Yes, Felicity,” he says, but there’s a tilt to his mouth, a lightness to the way he says her name, that betrays his amusement. The softness of his eyes betrays his gratefulness. Maybe he wasn’t getting along just fine before her.

 

“Promise me,” she says, serious. Oliver blinks at her, studying her for a long moment before he pulls his wrist from her grip.

 

“Get some sleep, Felicity,” he says instead before turning and heading away from her.

 

\---

 

The drive back to her hotel isn’t the most excruciating part of her day, considering she’d spent the past few hours in the hospital and it’s well past midnight now, but it’s far from comfortable.

 

She uses her tiredness to her advantage as Adrian attempts to introduce some small talk. She doesn’t want to give him details about the case or their investigation. She especially wants to avoid the topic of Oliver and John’s unsteady friendship.

 

Adrian doesn’t pry, but she’s wary of him anyway. Nothing about Starling so far has been as it seems. A shiny city full of wealthy elites, but underneath are dark secrets and psychopaths who shock people to death. She’s done her own digging into the mayor’s politics and the way the middle class has continued to shrink within the city, creating a larger divide between the poor and the super rich. Sowing discontent while continuing to publicize the city for its accomplishments.

 

Adrian Chase may not be the mayor’s hammer, but he’s certainly a tool in her arsenal. Felicity just hasn’t figured out how he’s being used yet.

 

The weight of the secrets she’s been keeping is growing heavier and heavier. She shouldn’t feel this guilt-ridden for keeping things from a man she barely knows, a man who’s hardly been baring his soul to her since she’d arrived. But, she thinks of that night in the bar. Of quiet stories and rough fingers grazing against the sides of her hands.

 

He had tried, hadn’t he?

 

The question keeps her awake, jolting her back into reality every time she begins a descent towards unconsciousness. Her exhaustion and her anxieties battle in her mind, dragging her towards sleep while keeping her alert enough to overanalyze her own guilt.

 

It finds her outside of Oliver’s apartment - the address obtained through some less-than-legal means, but it’s not like anyone’s counting.

 

It’s so late at night by now it could almost be considered morning, if she were the type of person to get up early and do something productive like exercise or run or have more than coffee as a breakfast meal. She’s not, for the record. She’s tried, it’s just not in the cards for her.

 

But it keeps her from knocking for a solid three minutes as she considers how strange it is for her to be here, standing outside Oliver’s door in basically her pajamas but with the addition of jeans and the black sneakers she always packs on trips  _ just in case _ . She should not be here.

 

Somewhere in her mind, her conscious mocks her and she finally knocks her knuckles against the wooden door in front of her. Which is stupid, she figures, because his bed probably isn’t by the door and how is he going to wake up to her lightly rapping her knuckles against his front door?

 

Bouncing a little on her toes to hype herself up, she lets out a huff and knocks again, louder this time. Silently, she prays he doesn’t have any neighbors that are light sleepers.

 

She’s considering knocking again when she hears some amount of shuffling on the other side of the door and then it swings open and-

 

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, resisting the very childish urge to cover them with her hands. But, honestly, does this dude really need to be this fucking attractive? How is the world this cruel? She came over here to try and do something good, to be a good person, and this is how she’s being repaid?

 

“Felicity?” He questions and she opens her eyes to find him frowning at her. Still shirtless. His voice is rough with sleep and something low in her stomach reacts to the sound of her name coming from his mouth.

 

Remembering why she’s here, Felicity brushes past him to enter his apartment. It’s not her most graceful entrance, especially considering she avoids touching any part of his half naked form as she skirts around him and into his living room.

 

“We need to be alone to do this,” she explains in a way that, she’s aware, explains nothing. She cringes as she turns back to him, finding a startled look on his face. He’d clearly been pushing the door shut behind her, but had aborted the movement halfway through.

 

“Ugh,” she groans, running her fingers through her loose hair. “My brain thinks of the worst ways to say things.”

 

“What are you doing here?” He asks, ignoring the flub as he pushes the door the rest of the way shut. At the question, Felicity begins to pace the small area between the couch and the coffee table. She tugs the sleeves of her sweatshirt down over her hands, fidgeting mindlessly as she tries to decide where to begin.

 

“I have to tell you something,” she starts in a rush. “But I’m afraid that when I do, you’ll shut me out. I’m worried that you’ll think I’ve been playing you or trying to hurt you and I understand how it could seem that way, but I swear, Oliver, I’m not- this isn’t… I don’t want you to hate me.”

 

“Felicity,” he says, cutting through her tangent as he crosses the room to meet her pacing. She stops in front of him, gaze trained solely on her own hands rather than the man in front of her, nearly vibrating with the fears running through her. They’re ingrained, somewhere deep in her bloodstream, hidden in her DNA, coating her internal wiring with a strong conviction.

 

Everyone leaves.

 

Oliver’s warm palms on her shoulders startle her, steadying her with the heat that makes its way through the material of her sweatshirt to the skin beneath. She looks up at him - attraction and discomfort left behind for something more serious, something more important.

 

“Oliver, I need you to trust me,” she says.

 

“Tell me what’s going on,” he says steadily, the only trace of sleep left to him is the strange unkemptness of his hair. It’s not a promise, but it’s better than she might have hoped for.

 

She pulls away from his touch, returning to pacing between his furniture and surveying his nearly bare living room. It looks almost more like a showroom in an open house than it does a dwelling where someone actually lives. No personal items, save for the abandoned shoes neatly lined next to the front door, his badge tossed onto the coffee table, the brown leather jacket tossed across the back of the couch.

 

She wonders how much time he actually spends here.

 

“When I first got here, I didn’t know what to expect,” she starts finally, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to visualize the words before they come out. Trying not to slip up further. “When Mayor Adams wanted to meet with me, I just figured it was because I had reached out to her and she wanted to welcome me. I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I decided to call her office back in D.C.”

 

She stops pacing, turning to face Oliver and finding a confused frown on his face as he watches her. A deep breath tenses her shoulders up and she continues to fidget with her hands, fingers trapped beneath the fabric of her sweatshirt.

 

“What  _ did _ she want?” He presses when her silence draws on too long. Felicity swallows, struggling to find the best way to say the words.

 

“She wanted me to spy on you,” she blurts finally, the words rushing out of her on a short breath and, once she’s started, she can’t stop. “She wanted me to keep an eye on the department and the investigation and report back to her about how you’re all operating. I haven’t been, I swear! I’ve barely been in contact with her and I never said yes. But, after I went to her for help with the warrants, I think she’s taken it as a tacit agreement and I think that’s why Adrian Chase has been sticking to me lately.”

 

“That’s why you’ve been so friendly with him,” Oliver says and she bites down on her lip. He’s still frowning, but there’s a pinch to his brow and she thinks it means he’s processing, rather than angry. Why isn’t he angry?

 

“I didn’t know if I could or even should tell you,” she admits, the guilt flowing from her shoulders with the admission and being replaced by exhaustion. She gives into it, settling onto his couch. “But after… after everything that’s happened the past few days, I couldn’t keep it from you anymore.”

 

After a moment, he settles down onto the couch as well. Not quite next to her, but there nonetheless. She thinks it’s a good sign he hasn’t kicked her out yet.

 

“That’s why you knew she’d help out with the warrants,” he says and she grimaces, looking down at her hands. “Felicity, if you knew it would mean you owing her something, you shouldn’t have asked her for help. It’s too dangerous.”

 

“I wanted to help,” she insists, eyes wide with conviction as she looks back up at him. She thinks it surprises him, his eyes widening just a touch at the outburst. “I came here because I thought I could help. And, if selling my soul momentarily is the way to do it, then I can handle that.”

 

“People who sell their soul to this city,” he starts ominously. “They don’t get it back.”

 

“I can handle it,” she repeats, holding his gaze for a moment to convey her seriousness. “Besides, I’m more worried about you.”

 

“Me?” He asks, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

 

“I was thinking about what you were saying yesterday about someone in the department tipping off Knox,” she explains, shifting on the couch as she speaks, putting herself closer to him and dropping her voice needlessly. “What if it’s worse than that?”

 

“You think the leak could go all the way to City Hall?” He frowns.

 

“You said it yourself,” she says. “It wasn’t just the department that knew. It was the D.A., the mayor, the judge. I’m guessing it’s the same amount of people who knew about all the attempted busts on Max Fuller and whatever number of people the department hasn’t been able to bring down. And after finding out Captain Lance met with Gaynor before he died, we can’t really rule out anyone at this point.”

 

“Felicity, this isn’t your responsibility,” he tells her.

 

“I know,” she nods.

 

“You don’t have to put yourself at risk just to help me with this,” he tries instead.

 

“Yes,” she insists. “I do.”

 

She holds his gaze for a long moment as he searches her, letting him see the certainty she feels about helping him. In the end, it’s not just about him. It’s about a city that deserves better, people that deserve more. Eventually, he breaks the stare, nodding.

 

“Okay,” he says, pushing himself up off the couch. Felicity frowns as she watches him round the coffee table without another word and disappear into an adjacent room. She pouts down at her hands in her lap, unsure if she’s been dismissed or not. It wouldn’t necessarily surprise her if Oliver thought that was an end to their conversation.

 

Just as she’s genuinely considering getting up and leaving, he comes back into the room. This time, he’s carrying a cardboard box and, mercifully, wearing a plain grey t-shirt. He settles back down on the couch beside her, sliding the box onto the coffee table.

 

“This is everything I’ve managed to gather while looking for the leak,” he explains and Felicity leans forward to peak into this box, raising an eyebrow at the contents. Oliver amends, “It’s not a lot.”

 

She pulls the box towards the edge of the table. It teeters ominously as she tilts it towards herself. Beneath a stack of manilla folders and scattered surveillance photos, she spots the corner of a black laptop case. Giving a small sound of triumph, she digs it from within and pulls it onto her lap.

 

“You’ve been keeping digital files?” She asks, opening the lid and staring down at the device. It’s thin and older. She can tell just from the design of it. It still has a disk drive and it’s running a cheaper processor – according to the sticker next to the mousepad. “That’s dangerous if you don’t cover your tracks.”

 

“It hasn’t left this apartment since I bought it,” he tells her. “I’ve never even connected it to a network.”

 

“Smart,” she comments, offering him a smirk. He shakes his head at her, reaching for the laptop just as it reaches the lock screen and asks for a password. She recognizes the encrypted screen, a little impressed by his thoroughness. He types something in, the screen fading to the desktop, before he hands it back to her.

 

“I’m sure you’d still be able to upgrade my security,” he admits and she shrugs because, yeah. She could upgrade the Bureau’s security if anyone would let her. It’s hardly an indictment of his tech savvy that she’s better at it than he is.

 

“Okay,” she says, settling the computer more comfortably in her lap and rubbing her palms together. “Tell me what you have so far.”

 

\---

 

Felicity startles awake at the sound of a phone ringing from another room. She’s slumped down into the couch with the laptop half on her lap and half on the couch next to her. Oliver is at the other end of the couch, neck bent at an angle that she’s sure is going to cause him pain later.

 

The ringing phone is not hers, so she reaches her foot out carefully, nudging Oliver’s thigh with the toe of her black sneaker. He jolts awake at the contact, reaching out on instinct and wrapping his fingers around her ankle. He blinks a few times as he stares at her, trying to figure out where he is.

 

“Your phone is ringing,” she explains and he nods, a slight delay to the movement, before he lets go of her leg and pushes off of the couch.

 

Once he’s gone, she pushes the laptop the rest of the way off of her legs and runs a hand through her hair. Oliver had fallen asleep while she was still going through the information on his computer. It’s more thorough and useful than the stalker-like photos in the box and the copies of incident reports.

 

She’d been so caught up in it, she doesn’t even remember falling asleep. She thinks she’d been dreaming that she’d continued to go through it. Ugh.

 

“Okay,” Oliver says, pulling her attention as he comes back into the room. He’s talking into his phone, rather than to her. “Yeah, I’ll be there as soon as I can. Thank you for calling me.”

 

Felicity watches him with a frown, waiting for him to end the call and explain. He’d managed to change from the sweatpants she’d found him in last night into a pair of jeans. The gray t-shirt remains the same.

 

“That was Lyla,” he explains, slipping the phone into his pocket. “John’s awake and talking. He said he’s up for answering a few questions.”

 

“Okay, great,” Felicity nods, still trying to pull herself from the haze of a short, interrupted sleep.

 

“You don’t have to come with me,” Oliver says. “I can handle asking a few questions. You probably need sleep.”

 

“No,” she insists, shaking her head and pushing up off of the couch. “No, I want to go with you. Do you mind stopping at my hotel, though? I’d rather not question him in my pajamas.”

 

Oliver doesn’t bother hiding his amusement as he nods at her.

 

\---

 

They still make it to the hospital, with a cardboard carrier of coffee, within an hour of her phone call. The upside of having badges is that visitor hours don’t really apply to them. Oliver greets the officer standing outside of John’s room, thanking him for staying during his shift with one of the coffees, as they head inside.

 

Lyla is the one who greets them, standing from where she’d made a spot for herself on the edge of John’s hospital bed to meet them at the door.

 

“Hey,” she greets quietly, stopping them just inside the room. Felicity holds the coffee carrier out to her and she takes one of the coffees. “He’s on a lot of pain meds right now and they’re making him a little groggy. Just be gentle.”

 

“We got it,” Oliver says softly with a nod. Lyla holds his gaze for a moment before stepping out of their way.

 

“Johnny, you have visitors,” she announces and Felicity peaks around her to find John Diggle sitting up on the bed. His large frame takes up almost the entirety of the narrow hospital bed, but something about the state makes him seem small. Maybe it’s the pale hue to his dark skin or the hospital gown that disappears under the blankets.

 

Felicity barely knows this man, but the sight of him like this makes something in her chest tighten.

 

“Queen,” he chuckles, the dark tone of it ruined by whatever pain suppressants the hospital has him on. Oliver lets out a breath, crossing to the end of the bed. Felicity follows him carefully, aware of the mine field they’ve walked into.

 

John huffs a sigh and reaches his hands up, scrubbing them wearily over his face. “I guess I should have listened to you and, trust me,  _ that _ is not an easy thing for me to admit.”

 

“You must be on drugs,” Oliver jokes a wry smile tugging his features. “I think you just said I was right.”

 

“Well, even a broken clock is right twice a day,” John shrugs, dropping his hands back to his lap and earning a chuckle from Oliver.

 

“What happened, John?” He asks gently.

 

“A lot of it is fuzzy,” John sighs and Felicity watches as he tries to focus past the drugs running through his system. She wraps her fingers around the plastic handle at the end of his bed, eager for the answer to Oliver’s question.

 

“Did you go back to Blackhawk?” She asks, unable to stop herself. John’s eyes move to her for the first time since they’d arrived and he squints for a moment, trying to place her. She’d be more offended if he wasn’t struggling with his memory as it is.

 

“Agent Smart,” he tries, earning a small giggle from her. She presses the pads of her fingers to her mouth gently, aware of the fresh lipstick there, to suppress the sound.

 

“He was a spy,” she says. “It’s Agent Smoak. But you can call me Felicity.”

 

“Felicity,” he nods, as if committing the name to memory now. She resists the urge to laugh at him again, biting down on the inside of her cheek. “No, I didn’t go back to Blackhawk. After I got pulled into the precinct, I went to work.”

 

“Is that where you got shot?” Oliver presses. “Were you protecting a client?”

 

“No,” John says, shaking his head. “It was the usual thing. Drove the guy around the city some, sat outside his office while he had a few meetings. Nothing out of the ordinary until lunchtime.”

 

“What happened at lunchtime?” It’s Lyla who asks the question this time, her arms crossed over her chest as she stares down at John. “You didn’t mention anything.”

 

“You don’t have to fight all my battles for me,” John says, smiling as he reaches out for her. She gives in, letting him pull one of her arms away from her chest to link their fingers together. “I noticed a guy following me around. He was pretty big, so it was hard to miss. After I handed off security of my client to someone else, I led him around for a while.”

 

“Military?” Oliver asks, frowning down the bed at him.

 

“I’d bet it, yeah,” John nods. “Anyway, so, I led him around for a while. Let him think he had me going while I just did what I needed to do. Finally, I let him follow me into that gas station on the corner of 17th Street and I cornered him in the back, tried to get some answers out of him.”

 

“Wait, he shot you in a gas station?” Felicity interrupts, frowning. That isn’t where they’d been told John had been found. Had he moved? Maybe there was surveillance footage. Her mind is rolling through the possibilities before John even has a chance to answer.

 

“Nah, that guy didn’t shoot me,” he says, shaking his head and dashing her dreams of security camera footage and witnesses. “He didn’t tell me anything, but I definitely spooked him. He took off and I didn’t see him the rest of the night.”

 

“Wait,” Oliver cuts in, holding a hand up. “You had a stalker and knew it? Why didn’t you call me?”

 

“You know why, man,” John says, no bite to the words, just honestly. Felicity feels Oliver tense next to her, but he doesn’t argue. “Anyway, it was a few hours after that that I got shot. I was picking up dinner and I remember seeing the gun, I remember the alley. It was a big guy, I’m pretty sure. Black, maybe, but it was pretty dark. I’m trying to remember, but…”

 

“Don’t strain yourself, Johnny,” Lyla says gently, taking his hand between both of hers. He nods at the gesture, but Felicity can tell from his expression that not being able to remember is getting to him.

 

“Get some more rest,” Oliver says. “If you start to remember anything else, call us. We’re gonna find this guy, alright?”

 

John nods and Lyla thanks them, which sounds like a dismissal to Felicity’s ears. She’s willing to take it, leading Oliver from the room. They pass the officer outside the door again and head back towards the elevator. She stops Oliver once they turn a corner away from John’s room.

 

“Knowing what we know,” she starts, before second guessing the statement. “Or what we think we know or whatever. Is it such a good idea to just let whatever officer is on duty keep guard outside John’s door?”

 

“The protection detail is more performatory than anything,” Oliver explains, placing his hand on her back and encouraging her to continue down the hall. “Lyla isn’t gonna let anything happen to John. I doubt she’ll leave his bedside at all if she can help it.”

 

“Well, that’s a very sweet thought but what’s his ex-wife going to do to keep his seemingly military-trained shooter from coming back to finish the job?” She asks as they reach the elevator bay. Oliver presses the down button before she has a chance, smirking at her like she’s said something funny.

 

“Lyla is ex-military, too,” he explains as the elevator dings and the doors slide open. They step within and, as the doors close, he adds, “Plus, she works for A.R.G.U.S.”

 

“Wait,” she says, turning to face him. “A.R.G.U.S.? Like,  _ the  _ A.R.G.U.S.?”

 

“So, you know them, then,” he comments, clearly amused by her.

 

“Well, as much as one federal government employee knows about another, secret federal organization,” she says. “A.R.G.U.S. is… they’re big time. Like, bigger than the CIA or the NSA or basically any government organization that people are afraid of.”

 

“Yup,” Oliver says, something like fondness in his voice. “That’s Lyla.”

 

Felicity laughs. “Okay, yeah, definitely not worried about John anymore.”

 

Oliver looks over at her, grinning. She smiles back, feeling lighter than she has in days. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, or the knowledge that John is most likely going to be fine. Or maybe it’s the way Oliver is smiling at her like she’s the first person to make him do so in a long time.

 

His phone trills, filling the small elevator car as it moves downwards and breaking the moment. She shifts, turning back to face the doors as he digs the device from his jeans pocket. She catches the way his shoulders bunch in the reflective metal of the doors and her stomach drops.

 

“We’ve got another one.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a quick way to know whether I intend to update this story is just to check my twitter (not that you all want to follow me) on like Thursdays. If I posted a dialogue tease on Wendesday, then I know for sure I intend to post on Friday. If I didn't, I probably won't be posting that week.
> 
> I wish there was an easier way to keep you all updated, but alas. I hope you enjoyed this chapter, though!


	9. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The latest victim leads Oliver to a familiar face and Felicity discovers the hardest part of Oliver's job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on getting a chapter up this week (because I was busy and also published two other fanfics instead, I hate myself) but I really, really hated the idea of skipping another week AGAIN already. Ugh. I need this semester to end please.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this one!

The girl they find is about his sisters age. Young, pretty, probably had a full life ahead of her. These are always the harder ones.

 

She’s laid out against the black pavement of an alley in the Glades, bloodshot eyes looking endlessly towards the gray sky above them. The rain hasn’t picked back up, but the sun is still low at the horizon and the color seems washed from the world around them.

 

The brightest thing in the alley is the red of the woman’s eyes and the emerald sequins that make up her dress.

 

“Oliver,” Felicity says quietly next to him, pulling his attention as Schwartz’s team carefully moves the woman into a black, vinyl body bag. Her fingers brush his wrist gently, glancing over the space between where his coat sleeve ends and the latex glove begins.

 

She tilts her head and he understands the gesture, letting her pull him off to the side. Away from prying ears, but there’s no escape from prying eyes. Not only is the scene filled with lab techs and uniforms, but a crowd has begun to form. On this side of town, it’s suspicion more than curiosity and he can’t blame them.

 

“This is an escalation,” she whispers once they’re far enough away for her liking. She’s pulled them into the space between two buildings, blocked off by brick on either side. He nods in agreement as he pulls the gloves off of his hands and balls them up in his fist.

 

“Weren’t you expecting this?” He asks, remembering her comments from that first day in the M.E.’s office. It feels like weeks ago. Could it really have only been days since she’d steamrolled into his life?

 

“Most killers escalate to a week and then a few days between killings,” she explains, shaking her head. “Now it’s - what? - two in three days? That’s a huge jump up in their timetable.”

 

“So, something must have changed,” he says.

 

“I did,” Felicity answers immediately and he frowns at her. “Maybe my showing up spooked them and now they’re hurrying to get through their victims.”

 

“Felicity,” he says, recognizing her tone, knowing it well enough from himself. Guilt. “This is not your fault.”

 

She lets out a heavy breath and squeezes her eyes shut. Oliver resists the urge to reach out to her, to try and give her some level of the comfort she’s given him over the past day. He’s worried that if he lets himself touch her, he might never want to stop.

 

“I know,” she says finally, resolutely. He’s finding himself consistently impressed with her conviction.

 

“What did Schwartz say?” He asks once she’s taken a moment to wash the guilt from her conscience, or at least push it down to be dealt with later. He’s familiar with that, too.

 

“There was no lump on her spine that she could feel,” Felicity explains. She had spoken with the M.E. while he had found the officer who had been first on the scene. “But the burst blood vessels in her eyes and the manner of death seem consistent with the device. She’ll know more once she’s done her autopsy.”

 

“Okay, good,” he nods. “Officer Pillson said a jogger spotted her on her morning route and called the police when she realized she wasn’t just passed out. Her I.D. says Veronica Sparks and they found her phone on the sidewalk a ways from her, but she must have dropped it because it’s smashed.”

 

“Well, broken screen or not, I can still get something from it,” Felicity shrugs and he doesn’t doubt that. It could have been dropped to the bottom of the bay and he gets the feeling Felicity could have gotten something out of it.

 

She goes on, glancing back towards where the woman has been covered and moved onto a rolling gurney headed for the M.E.’s van, “She looked dressed for a night out. Are there any clubs or bars around here where she would have fit in?”

 

On this side of town, most of the bars are dives made up of old brick and slacking on fire codes. They’re the kinds of places people go to forget things, to disappear, not to have a good time. Most of the people in this part of the city can’t afford a good time. But…

 

Oliver lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing his hand over his jaw. “Just one.”

 

\---

 

It’s an interaction he’d been hoping to avoid. At least until this was all over and he would be able to use a closed case as an excuse. Now, he’s almost certain he’ll have to try and explain himself. Because he’s a coward, he let’s Felicity tag along rather than head back to try and find something on the woman’s phone, hoping she’ll be a buffer for the situation.

 

The bright green sign of Verdant looms over them as they cross the street towards the repurposed steel factory. It taunts him with it’s sharp lettering, some amount of sun managing to peek over the buildings around it and catch on the unlit neon tube lights making up the word.

 

“You’re sure she would have been here?” Felicity asks, breaking him from his, admittedly dramatic, pondering of the otherwise harmless sign.

 

“It’s the only trendy spot in this area,” he says. “And, according to her I.D., she lived on the other side of the city so-,” he pauses, glancing over at Felicity and catching the look on her face - nose scrunched up like he’s done something ridiculous. “What?”

 

“Don’t say ‘trendy spot,’” she says. “It makes you sound like an old man.”

 

“I-,” he starts, huffing out a breath and trying not to let himself be amused by her teasing. “Just trust me, alright? She was here.”

 

Felicity nods easily as they cross through the fenced area leading up to the wide opening of the club. It’s mostly just an open air entrance made up of the beams holding the building up. It’s not a secure entry, but he knows a line of security keeps the club elite each night.

 

“Do you think the owner will talk to us?” She asks instead, pulling his attention again. Oliver shrugs.

 

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure,” he says.

 

They cross through the entrance and Oliver immediately sees who he’s looking for. Standing in front of the bar as she chats with one of the clean up crew, her silhouette is backlit by the lighted display of bottles against a mirror the length of the bar.

 

Felicity’s heels on the cement floor of the club gives them away and his sister spins to face them, a call about the club being closed dying on her lips.

 

“Well, look who the cat dragged in,” Thea calls, handing a clipboard in her hands off to the worker she’d been speaking with. He takes it as the dismissal it is.

 

“Does anyone in this town like you?” Felicity murmurs, leaning a bit towards Oliver as she does.

 

He decides to ignore the question, continuing on his path toward Thea where he’s greeted with a pointedly tight hug. He laughs at the dramatics of it and squeezes her a little tighter, letting himself find comfort in the embrace even if she’s clearly upset with him.

 

“Nice to know you remember that you have a sister,” Thea snipes as she pulls away. Oliver can feel Felicity’s curious gaze on his back, watching the exchange.

 

“Speedy, we had dinner last week,” he reminds her, earning a raised eyebrow.

 

“That was two weeks ago,” she correct, her annoyance at him melting into concern. “You really should sleep more.”

 

“Says the nightclub owner,” he deflect, stepping back from her to put himself in line with Felicity again. He sees Thea’s gaze turn interested as it lands on Felicity, studying her with narrowed eyes.

 

She lifts her arms crossing them back over her chest and Oliver feels Felicity tense next to him.

 

“Oh, is this why the surprise visit?” Thea asks, looking between them. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone.”

 

Felicity, predictably, beats him to the punch.

 

“No,” she practically shouts which, yeah, okay mild offense on his part. She’s rapidly pointing between the two of them, blinking furiously as the words stumble out of her with no organization or structure, “No, we’re not- it’s not- I’m not-”

 

“Actually, this is business,” Oliver cuts her off and he thinks he hears her take a deep, grateful breath. Thea’s stance tightens, her face hardening from the interestested curiosity from a moment ago, and he tenses at the change.

 

“Different kind of partner, then,” she bites, turning away from him to round the bar instead. Oliver sighs, following to stand on the other side of the countertop from her. Felicity follows. “What happened to Dinah?”

 

“Agent Smoak is consulting on a case for the FBI,” he explains, earning an eyebrow raise tossed over his sister’s shoulder. “Which is why we’re here.”

 

“I’m surprised you came down here,” she says and the tone in her voice lets him know this is going nowhere nice. “Rather than dragging me into an interrogation room.”

 

“You talked to Walter,” he sighs.

 

“Actually we have a standing weekly brunch plan,” she says. “Some of us still like to pretend we’re a family.”

 

Always one to enjoy a dramatic exit line, Thea pulls another clipboard from beneath the bar and moves quickly to the other end. She leaves Oliver behind as she begins to climb the stairs up to the offices above. He shoots a look at Felicity and she bites down on her lower lip, nodding in understanding.

 

Oliver chases after his sister.

 

He tracks her down in the storage room on the second level where she counts inventory and marks it on the board in her hands. She slashes angrily at the paper on the board with the attached pen and Oliver watches the movement for a moment, figuring she wishes it were something else - or, rather, someone - that she was slashing at instead.

 

“You keep closing off,” she says without turning around, calmer than she had been downstairs. He thinks that might be worse, how sad and lonely she sounds. He’d never meant to do that to her.

 

“It’s not about you, Speedy,” he says quietly, cutting right to the heart of her fears, the real insecurity that lies beneath. The unbeatable belief that, eventually, she’ll run everyone away. “It’s… Look, I really didn’t mean to check out for two weeks. There’s just been a lot happening. You know how wrapped up I can get.”

 

She turns finally, sighing and letting the clipboard fall against her thighs. The hard cardboard of it scrapes against the material of her jeans as she studies him and Oliver tries not to squirm under the scrutiny. Thea has always had a way of seeing right through him, even when she doesn’t fully understand his motives for whatever he’s feeling.

 

“I worry about you, Ollie,” she admits finally. “You’ve been isolating yourself slowly for years. Before you and McKenna broke up, before you even started at the Academy. I’m afraid you’re going to become complacent in your own loneliness.”

 

“Thea,” he sighs, crossing towards her. He knows she’s right, some dark part of him is not only aware but an active participant in it all. Maybe she should be worried, but he’s her big brother. She shouldn’t have to bear the weight of his failures along with him.

 

He places his hands gently on her shoulders and tugs her towards him. The clipboard digs into his back when she hugs him, but it’s gentler this time. Comfort rather than instinct.

 

“Just because we’re orphans,” she says sadly, the words pressed into his shoulder. “Doesn’t mean we have to be alone.”

 

“I’m fine,” he lies, cradling the back of her head in one of his hands. She takes a heavy deep breath, her shoulders moving with the inhale, and lets it out before she lets him go.

 

“Now, will you please come downstairs so I can do my job?” He asks, earning an annoyed eye roll from her. It’s for show, he can tell, because she sets the clipboard on the desk against the windows and leads him back down to the bar below.

 

Felicity has taken a seat on one of the bar stools where she sways in half circles, obvious discomfort rolling off of her as she stares at her phone with a tight frown. He smirks to himself as he circles around her. Thea returns to the other side of the bar. Felicity might not catch his amusement at her, but Thea’s face tells him that she has.

 

“So, what did you want to ask me?” She asks, thankfully not calling him on whatever she thinks she knows.

 

“We found a woman a few streets over this morning,” he explains, sidestepping the morbid word choice for something more vague. He doubts Thea won’t understand what he’s telling her anyway. “She was dressed for a club, but she didn’t live around here.”

 

“So, she was probably a customer last night,” Thea surmises and he nods. Felicity is tapping away at her phone before holding it up for Thea to see.

 

“Do you recognize her?” She asks and Oliver glances over to see a photo of the woman’s I.D. on the screen. Thea frowns down at the image, trying to place her, but eventually she gives a sigh and shakes her head.

 

“We were packed last night,” she explains. “And I wasn’t here for most of it. I had my G.M. running the floor last night.”

 

“Right,” Oliver nods. “We’ll have to talk to her, too.”

 

“I sent her home for the day, so she’s probably passed out by now,” Thea says. “But I can give you her number.”

 

“That’d be helpful,” he says. “We’re also gonna need the names of anyone on staff last night who could have seen her if she came in - bartenders, bouncers, busboys.”

 

“I can get you a list,” she nods. “Is that all?”

 

“I actually have one more question,” Felicity says, cutting him off before he can answer. She’s grimacing down at her phone and refusing to meet his eye. When she looks back up at Thea, she asks, “Do you allow drugs in here?”

 

“Why is that relevant?” Thea frowns, glancing over at Oliver. Except he’s also frowning at Felicity, unsure of where the question has come from.

 

“I just need you to answer the question,” Felicity says, standing her ground as she stares Thea down across the bar. He sees something like surprise cross his sister’s features before she answers.

 

“No, no I don’t,” she says matter-of-factly. “My staff all know my policy. If someone is caught dealing, they’re ejected. If we suspect someone might be a risk for overdose, one of my bouncers will take them to Starling General.”

 

“That’s a harder stance than most clubs would take,” Felicity presses and Oliver resists the protective urge to intervene. If she’s asking, there must be a reason for it. “Isn’t that a risk to business?”

 

“When I was eighteen I got high on some garbage someone passed me in a club and I drove myself into a tree,” Thea explains and Oliver flinches at the memory. His sister has always been stronger, braver than him. “I wish that club had taken a harder stance.”

 

Felicity doesn’t flinch, offering Thea a gentle nod in understanding.

 

“I think that’s all we need then,” she says, sliding off of the barstool and back to the concrete floor beneath. Oliver has a brief moment of fear that she may fall when her heels connect, but she holds her balance without problem. She glances over at him and adds, “I’ll give you two a minute.”

 

With that she heads towards the mouth of the club, giving them the space to say their goodbyes. When he looks back at Thea, she’s studying him again and he frowns.

 

“What?” He asks.

 

“So, consultant,” she says. “That means she has to leave when all this is over, right?”

 

“Yeah,” he answers simply. “She works in D.C.”

 

“Are you gonna be able to handle that?” Thea asks, frowning at him. He meets it with one of his own, brow pinched in confusion at the question.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he lies earning a sigh from her. It’s like he said, she’s always had a way of seeing right through him.

 

“I’ll send you the list of employees as soon as I get it together,” she says instead of pressing the issue further. “And when this is all over, please stop being such a stranger.”

 

He nods, knocking his knuckles gently against the bartop before turning to follow after Felicity. She’s waiting at the entrance of the club, a dark silhouette against the sunlight beginning to pour over the buildings in earnest. Still, the bright color of her jacket bleeds into the shadows, reflects the sunlight, paints the gray concrete around her in dark pink.

 

Oliver tries to put Thea’s question out of his mind.

 

“What was that about drugs?” He asks with a frown as he reaches her.

 

“Schwartz called while you were upstairs,” she explains. “We should probably head over there.”

 

\---

 

“What do you mean she overdosed?”

 

Schwartz holds her hands up in response to Dinah’s question, bright blue surgical gloves covering her fingers. Oliver tries not to think about what those gloves may have been touching before they’d arrived.

 

“Nothing is official until I get toxicology results back,” Schwartz explains, looking between the three of them. Oliver can’t help feeling as confused as his partner, but Felicity is chewing on her lip next to him. He can feel the nerves coming off of her, more nervous about this development than she seems shocked by it.

 

It at least explains why she’d been questioning Thea about drugs in Verdant. If Veronica Sparks overdosed, though, it doesn’t explain how she fits into their case. Unless, she doesn’t. He can’t decide if that would be better or worse.

 

“What makes you think it was drugs?” Felicity asks, bringing them back to the task. She wraps her arms over her stomach as she avoids looking at Sparks where she’s still laid on the table in front of them.

 

She can’t be much younger than Felicity herself.

 

“Coloring on her liver, a lack of blood coagulation,” Schwartz explains, motioning to the woman on the table. “Without the device, I have to look at her as if she’s not connected to your case and the signs I’m seeing would typically lead me to a drug overdose as a cause of death.”

 

“And there were no needle punctures at all?” Oliver presses.

 

“I checked the usual spot,” Schwartz says. “Plus, all the typical puncture areas for a junkie.”

 

She steps towards the table, lifting the sheet covering the woman on it just enough to reveal her bared arm. Oliver recognizes the sight of track marks on the inside of her forearm immediately.

 

“It looks like she was a habitual drug user,” Schwartz adds anyway.

 

“Yeah, but the burst blood vessels aren’t consistent with an opioid overdose,” Felicity points out.

 

“I know,” the doctor nods. “But if she was a habitual drug user she may have found something new. What’s interesting is that I’m willing to still list the cause of death as a severe cerebral hemorrhaging.”

 

“If you didn’t find a device, how does that make sense?” Dinah asks.

 

“I’m hoping the toxicology will shed some light,” she explains. Oliver frowns, glancing to his left to share a look with Dinah. He can tell she wants to press further as well, feels certain this connects to their case somehow. Before either of them can, Felicity is speaking again.

 

“Thank you, Dr. Schwartz,” she says, a clear dismissal from the look she shoots Oliver. “Call us when you have more, please.”

 

Schwartz nods, turning away to peel the gloves from her hands. Oliver gives Felicity a confused look, but she touches his arm lightly and nods to the door. He follows the direction and hears the sound of Dinah’s hard soled boots behind them as well.

 

“What the hell was that?” Dinah asks before he gets the chance. “There’s no way this is just some random overdose. We can’t have her slacking off when-”

 

“Look,” Felicity cuts her off gently, holding a hand up. “I know we’re all eager to find any lead on this killer, but we need to look at this objectively. What do we know about Veronica Sparks?”

 

“Twenty-five,” Oliver supplies, crossing his arms over his chest and pulling from what they’d been told by Alena after she’d researched the victim. “Upper middle class. Worked in research for a legal firm downtown while she did her post-grad work at Starling University.”

 

“That’s hardly the M.O. this killer has built,” she says, looking between them. “So, why go after some random junkie leaving a club? It just doesn’t make sense.”

 

“Maybe this is them escalating,” Dinah suggests with a shrug. “Or maybe they’re trying to throw us off their scent.”

 

Felicity lets out a breath and shrugs her shoulders in a non-verbal show that she isn’t buying it. Frustration rolls off of her and Oliver is finding himself more and more aware of the changes in her moods. She spins on one foot and takes a step away from them, running her hand over her ponytail. He focuses on Dinah for a moment, giving Felicity a moment on her own.

 

“Look, we’ll keep on this, alright?” He says. “I need to know that you’re focusing on finding John’s shooter. I need someone I trust on it and _I_ can’t because-”

 

“Because the Captain would never in a million years let you work on the investigation into your buddy’s assault with intent?”

 

Oliver lets out a small huff, staring her down for a moment before admitting, shortly, “Yeah.”

 

“Well, McKenna and I have that covered,” she assures him and he does feel better, knowing at least that Dinah and McKenna are two people within the department he can trust. He’s not about to share Felicity’s involvement with the mayor or his - he supposes it’s _their_ now - investigation into leaks in the department, though.

 

“Thank you,” he says seriously and Dinah nods at his gratitude before passing by him to head back down the hallway to the stairs that will take her to the front entrance of the building.

 

He turns around, finding Felicity pressed back against the wall behind him. The crease in her brow is more prominent now, her gaze distant, and he swears he can hear her mind going. When he takes a few steps towards her, she spots the movement and snaps back to attention.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly. He finds himself surprised by a nearly overwhelming urge to touch her, stroke his fingers over her shoulder and squeeze gently, offer comfort or reassurance. He stuffs his hands in his coat pockets instead. “Wanna tell me what’s going on in your mind right now?”

 

“Logically, I know that it’s too big of a coincidence for Veronica Sparks not to be connected,” she says, seemingly unsurprised by the question. Not that her reaction to Schwartz’s news has been subtle. Nothing about her is subtle, but he thinks that’s part of what he likes about her. Part of what has made her so easy to trust, to gravitate towards.

 

“What about illogically?” He presses because maybe that’s the problem. Maybe they’ve been running around looking for the rational in the irrational, the logic in the madness.

 

“Something just doesn’t feel right,” she admits quietly, like the words are foreign. Like she isn’t used to relying on gut feelings and senses. No, she buries herself in code and science and things with yes-or-no answers.

 

“Honestly, Felicity,” he says with a shrug. “Nothing about this case feels right. When things start to feel right, when the violence and death begins to feel normal, that’s when we start to lose ourselves to the job.”

 

She nods, but she’s chewing on the corner of her red lip and her brow is still pinched. He doesn’t think the words have helped. She’s still searching for some sort of answer that maybe only she can give herself. Oliver is beginning to wonder; How much longer can she stay in Starling before it destroys her the way it destroys everyone else?

 

Something hot and protective flares in his chest at the thought and he promises himself he won’t let that happen.

 

He’s taken a step closer to her, dangerously close to boxing her in against the wall she’s using for support, near to giving into the urge to touch her. She glances up, her eyes meeting his, and he thinks she sees right through him, past the sharp and rough edges to the darkness he’s tried so hard to contain.

 

Does she see the way it’s threatening to consume him?

 

Her phone trills in her pocket and it startles them out of the moment. Felicity fumbles in the pockets of her trench coat, searching for the source of the ringing. Oliver recovers a bit better, taking a step back from her as she frowns down at the phone once she finds it.

 

“Agent Smoak,” she answers, a nervous hand moving up to smooth over her ponytail again. Her gaze shoots back to Oliver as the person on the other end answers. “Oh, hi… You did? No, that’s great!” A long pause and now Oliver is the one with a pinch to his brow, eager to hear the other side of the conversation. “Thanks so much, Adrian. We’ll be right down.”

 

She hangs up and Oliver raises his eyebrows in a silent question as she tucks her phone back into her pocket.

 

“That was Adrian Chase,” she explains. “He got a judge to sign off on a warrant for the ISPs.”

 

“I still don’t like the idea of you owing him or the mayor something for it,” he says.

 

“Well, it’s not my favorite thing either,” she sighs, rolling her eyes at him. She pushes off of the wall, suddenly in his space again, before continuing past him towards the stairs Dinah had taken. He follows after her. “But at least it gives us our best chance of finding whoever this Savior is. Once the internet service provider sends us the IP address, we’ll be able to track down a physical address for the posting.”

 

“Assuming it’s not a public place or that they still live there,” Oliver points out, earning a look over Felicity’s shoulder.

 

“You’re not much of an optimist are you, Oliver?” She asks. He smirks at her, shrugging.

 

“That’s what I have you for,” he says. “It’s what makes us such a good match.”

 

Felicity is silent but he catches the subtle shake of her shoulders as she laughs at him.

 

\---

 

It’s McKenna who greets them as they arrive at the station and Oliver finds himself thankful it’s not Chase. He knows now that Felicity’s relationship with the man is one of necessity and that she’s just as suspicious of the District Attorney as he is. For some reason, that doesn’t stop the uncomfortable squirming of his stomach when he thinks about them together.

 

“Hey,” McKenna greets as they enter the bullpen, walking with them as they continue towards Oliver’s desk. “We sent an officer with the warrant to the internet service provided that the IP address belongs to and they’re gonna email whatever they have on the user to Alena.”

 

“Okay, great,” Felicity says, nodding as they reach Oliver’s desk. She leans back against it, pulling her coat around herself. “Once we have that, Alena and I can pull a physical address and hopefully some identifying information. If it’s a residential, we can get the owner’s information.”

 

“There’s something else,” McKenna says, looking between them. “We managed to get a hold of Veronica Sparks’ next of kin now that we have a positive ID. Her parents are waiting in the briefing room.”

 

Oliver nods, scrubbing a hand over his face. This is, hands down, the worst part of the job. It’s hard dealing with the death and the violence, seeing the worst humanity has to offer every day. But when he shows up at a crime scene, the person he sees is typically a stranger. And yet, somehow, he has to be equipped enough to tell their friends and family that they won’t be coming home anymore.

 

Veronica Sparks was only twenty-five.

 

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly feeling the weight of that burden settle over him. He wonders if McKenna and Felicity see his shoulders slump with it, or if he only imagines that they do. “Yeah, I should talk to them.”

 

“Give me a few minutes, I can run down and talk to Alena about the IP and then I can talk to them with you,” Felicity offers.

 

“Are you sure?” He asks because, really, the company might make it easier. But he doesn’t want her to feel like she needs to do it. “It’s not your responsibility.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” she says, shaking her head. “It’s just that you’re…,” she halts, frowning as she looks between him and McKenna, trying to find the right words. Oliver raises his eyebrows at her, watching her fumble, gesticulating wildly. “I just mean you’re not the most- you know, you’re sort of, um…, prickly?”

 

She finishes it like a question, looking between them once more as she feels out the answer. Oliver blinks at her, twice, trying to decide whether or not to be offended by it.

 

“Just go talk to Alena quickly, please,” he says finally. Felicity nods, a little jerkily, before pushing off of the desk and heading off towards the stairs. He watches her make her way through the bullpen until she disappears into the stairwell.

 

When he looks over, McKenna has crossed her arms over her chest and is sending him a dark look. He frowns at her before turning to his desk and dropping down into the chair.

 

“What?” He asks, when the look doesn’t fade.

 

“That’s a bad idea,” is all she gives as she lowers herself into the chair next to his desk.

 

“What?” He asks. “Letting her help out with the parents? I know she’s a little awkward, but I think it’ll help them-”

 

“That’s not what I was talking about,” McKenna says, giving him a meaningful look as she leans forward in the chair slightly. Oliver frowns at her in confusion.

 

Jesus, is he really this transparent?

 

Admittedly, there’s something about Felicity. Maybe it’s the contrast to what he’s used to. The clear way she isn’t from Starling City, or anywhere close, that draws him to her. Makes him curious in a way he hasn’t been for something that didn’t involve a crime in a long time.

 

But he thinks it’s more than that. Somewhere in all the things he’s learned about her over the past few days, he’d gotten lost in her. There’s something inside of him that aches to give into it, to let himself wander through the passageways of her until he knows each and every turn. Until he can recite her like the verses they used to make him perform in Sunday school.

 

It’s heady and overwhelming. And it’s exactly why he needs to put some distance between them. Which is what he keeps telling himself and, yet, he hasn’t managed to do it just yet.

 

“I know how rough the last few years have been for you,” she continues when it’s clear he won’t be offering anything up. “But getting attached to someone you know is going to be leaving at the end of all of this, it’s a bad idea. And, I know you, Oliver. You’re going to get attached.”

 

“Are you telling me this as my friend or as my lieutenant?” He asks, stalling as he lowers his voice and leans towards McKenna a touch.

 

This is the first time they’ve talked about his love life since they broke up. In fairness, he hasn’t had much of a love life since they broke up. Lately, he hasn’t even had a sex life. McKenna, on the other hand, has been seeing her girlfriend for a little over a year, but she’s hardly needed or wanted Oliver’s input on the relationship outside of ‘she seems really nice’ the first time he met her.

 

“Both,” she says easily. “Felicity seems great. She’s really nice, super smart and she doesn’t take any shit. And we both know that’s your type,” she offers him a teasing wink as she compliments herself and it earns a chuckle from him. “It’s not my place to tell you what to do with your personal life, but I just need you to be careful. If not for the department’s sake, than for both of yours.”

 

“McKenna,” he says seriously, holding her gaze for a moment so she knows. “That is absolutely not happening.”

 

She stares him down for a moment, trying to assess his sincerity.

 

“Good,” she says finally, sitting back in the chair and dropping her palms against her upper thighs. “It’s better for both of you that way.”

 

Oliver nods in agreement, even as something in his chest tightens against the words. Felicity pops up behind McKenna suddenly and he worries she may have overheard them, but she doesn’t appear to have. A sunny smile on her face, she looks between the two of them.

 

“See? I told you I’d be quick,” she says, focusing in on him. “Are you ready?”

 

He nods again and that tight feeling in his chest holds.

 

\---

 

McKenna joins them in the break room to make introductions and it becomes immediately clear that she hasn’t given the Sparkses any information. It’s both a blessing and a curse, Oliver thinks. If she had told them why they’re here, he may have returned to find them inconsolable. He can’t imagine how he’d handle the loss of a child and every parent he has to break the heartbreaking news to reacts differently.

 

Not telling them, though, has left them nearly dizzy with questions which they begin throwing at him and Felicity as soon as they’ve been introduced.

 

“Please, take a seat,” Oliver says, speaking over them as they continue to trade questions on and off with each other. He motions towards one of the tables lined up in front of the podium where each team receives their morning briefings.

 

Grace Sparks tugs at her husband’s hand, tilting her head towards the table and encouraging him to return to the seats Oliver had found them in. Sidney Sparks goes after a moment, suspicious gaze holding as he makes his way back around the table.

 

Once the couple is back in their seats, Oliver pulls himself and Felicity chairs from one of the other tables and settles them across from them. McKenna lingers near the door, keeping a careful watch rather than participating in the conversation.

 

“Is this about Veronica?” Grace presses again, once they’re all settled. The question is calmer than it has been but the gentle way she’s clasped her hands on the table can’t hide their shaking. Oliver wishes he could save them from the pain he’s about to cause them.

 

“It is,” he nods.

 

“Whatever she’s done this time,” Sidney says before Oliver can force anything more out. His hands turn over on the table so his palms face the ceiling, a pleading gesture. “She isn’t well, but we’re working on it. I’m sure whatever it is, we can find some sort of solution.”

 

“I’m afraid we found Veronica’s body this morning,” Oliver gets out finally and the room delves into a startled silence. He wants to say more. To offer some sort of comfort, but there’s nothing good here. There’s no softening a blow like this.

 

“No, that can’t be right,” Grace says, shaking her head so quickly her brown curls bounce off of her cheeks with the movement. “No, I mean, I… I just talked to her last night. She said she was staying in and getting some work done.”

 

“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Sparks,” Felicity says, reaching across the table towards her. Grace snatches her hands away, the shaking having increased and becoming more prominent as she holds them up in the air. A continued stream of “no”s and “wrong”s tumbles from her mouth, the words catching in her throat and turning hysterical.

 

Oliver looks over at Sidney Sparks where he sits silent next to his wife. He’s tense in his shoulders, eyes wide as one hand covers the lower half of his face. He shakes his head, eyes turning red at the edges as he holds back his emotions.

 

“I know this is very difficult for you both,” Oliver tries.

 

“What do you know?” Sidney snaps suddenly, surprising Oliver with the venom in his voice. He keeps himself calm, trying to appear unimposing in front of the shocked parents. “You’re telling me my baby girl is gone, Detective Queen. You can’t possibly know how difficult this is.”

 

Oliver just nods. He reaches out to Felicity, placing his hand on her forearm, still stretched out on the table, and nodding towards the door.

 

“We’ll give you a few minutes,” he offers gently as he stands from his chair. “But then, we do have to ask you a few questions.”

 

McKenna already has the door open, the quiet noise of the bullpen spilling into the briefing room. Felicity is out the door first, posture tense from the conversation, and Oliver follows her out. She keeps walking, even when he and McKenna have stopped outside the door.

 

“I’ll stay out here until they’re ready to talk to us,” McKenna suggests and Oliver nods as he watches Felicity disappear around a corner.

 

“Yeah, thanks,” he says once he’s returned his attention to her. “I’m just going to make sure she’s okay.”

 

He ignores McKenna’s meaningful look as he moves past her to follow after Felicity. She hadn’t made it far, stalling a few feet beyond the corner into a quiet, narrow hallway that leads to the evidence lockup. She’s pressed into the corner where the hall dead ends at the door of the lockup.

 

“Hey,” Oliver calls softly as he catches up to her. He doesn’t know what he expects on her face when she looks up at him, maybe a few tears or the familiar guilt he feels anytime he has do this part of the job. But it’s not the shaken look he receives when she meets his eye.

 

He doesn’t fight the instinct to reach out to her this time, his hands landing on her shoulders and squeezing tight enough to assure her of his presence, that she’s not in this alone.

 

“Hey,” he says again, “Hey, come on.”

 

He removes one hand to fumble through his pockets for his wallet, pulling his security pass from within. He swipes it in the lock next to the evidence lockup and the lock beeps as it slides open. Carefully, he ushers her within and closes the door behind him.

 

“Deep breaths,” he instructs once the door clicks closed and he’s turned back to Felicity. Her shoulders shake under his hands when he situates them there. “You’ve never had to do that before, have you?”

 

Felicity shakes her head silently, squeezing her eyes shut as she follows his directions and takes a long breath in. He watches her as she holds it for a few seconds, looking as though she counts them before she lets it out again. Her shoulders rise and fall under his hands as she repeats the movement a few times.

 

“God, do you- do you have to do that all the time?” She asks finally and he’s surprised by the strength of her voice, only wavering slightly. He wonders if she even realizes how strong she is. “That was…”

 

The words fail her, but he nods in understanding. It’s a situation that there is no words for, no way to accurately describe. Every terrible adjective he could think of to describe it seems ill fitted. None of them seem like enough.

 

“The first time I had to notify next of kin, after I got promoted to homicide,” he tells her, letting himself feel the pain of the memory again if it will give her some level of comfort. “It was a hit and run. The boy that had gotten hit was only fourteen, on his way home from school. I remember that his dad’s knees gave out after I told him.”

 

Felicity sucks in a noisy breath and Oliver hears the way it shakes through her. He resists the urge to pull her closer, to wrap her in his arms and try to hold them both together.

 

“I was so sick afterwards that McKenna sent me home,” he continues. “I nearly drank myself into a coma.”

 

She looks away from him, chewing on her lip and processing what he’s told her. In fairness, she’s handling it a lot better than he had the first time. She takes another breath, slower this time as it fills her chest, and Oliver can tell she’s calming down.

 

“How do you do it?” She asks quietly, looking back up at him. Her eyes shine with unshed tears, but he’s confident she isn’t going to collapse or shut down so he pulls his hands away from her shoulders, stuffing them into his pants pockets.

 

“This is the thing about this job,” he says, shrugging gently. “Even when we win, we lose.”


	10. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity works on finding something to go off of in Veronica Sparks' phone while Oliver tracks down a suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, hey. Long time no see. Ah! I'm so sorry, you guys!! I thought I had gotten through the worst of it when I posted the last chapter, but things just kept piling up! A couple life updates for anyone who cares; I kicked finals weeks' ass, managed to make it out of the semester from Hell without anything less than a B-. And then, immediately after my last final, I got on a thirteen hour bus ride to Nashville to meet David Ramsey -- aka the love of my life!
> 
> So, it's been a busy few weeks. But it's summer! I work a desk job which doesn't start until June and I'm not taking any summer classes, so I'm looking forward to having a bit more free time. The upload schedule for this might be a little erratic, rather than every Friday, until I can figure out how I want to do it from here on out but, yeah! I'm excited to get back into it!!
> 
> Thanks for being so patient and continuing to be interested in this story! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!!

Felicity takes one more long, deep breath and lets Oliver’s words settle over her. They don’t make her feel better or bring any comfort, but she doesn’t think that’s what he’d been going for. She thinks he was trying to be honest. That makes her feel a little better in a surprising way.

 

“You don’t have to keep going with this,” Oliver offers quietly. A way out, an option to keep herself from having to bear any more of this pain. He adds, “No one will think any less of you.”

 

He’s right. There’s a smashed cell phone waiting for her downstairs and the email from the ISP should be coming through any minute. But this is part of the job, isn’t it? She’s had the luxury of hiding behind email chains and computer screens up until now. It’s easy to separate yourself from gruesome photos in manilla folders.

 

This is new and it’s heartbreaking but, doesn’t she owe it to Veronica Sparks to feel that pain? Doesn’t she owe it to all of the people this killer could target next? Or, maybe, she just owes it to herself not to run from reality.

 

“No,” she says quietly, shaking her head. She feels the moment an unshed tear, left from the breakdown moments before, breaks away and slides down her cheek and swipes it away quickly. “No, I’m fine. I need to do this with you.”

 

Oliver just nods and she figures that he probably understands more than she might have expected when she’d run from the briefing room. It means a lot that he’d come after her and helped her calm down. He’d even opened up an old wound just to help her.

 

She’s really trying not to read into it.

 

“Do you need another minute?” He asks.

 

Felicity shakes her head again, slowly this time, rather than the rattled, jerky movements she’s been making up until now. She’s still keeping track of her breaths, the way her lungs expand beneath her ribcage as she pulls the air in.

 

He must read her readiness, because the door to the lockup opens and light from the hallway spills in. She realizes, belatedly, how dim the lighting within the room is. Oliver hesitates before he leads her out, like he wants to reach for her or do something, but it only lasts a moment. He’s been doing that a lot lately.

 

“I kind of feel like I should call my mom,” she says, chuckling in an attempt to lighten the atmosphere. Oliver’s eyes crinkle in response as he stares down at her and it feels like a win.

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He asks, seeing through her attempt at deflection. Her chest stutters a little with anxiety, still trying to win a battle over her mind. She ignores it, pushing it down and trying to quiet the roaring in her ears.

 

“I’m sure,” she nods. Oliver holds her stare for another moment and she almost reels at the softness there, the way he studies her just to be absolutely certain. There’s no reason for him to care this much, to be looking at her like he’s genuinely concerned for her and not just the potential she could fuck up his case.

 

She likes it, though.

 

“Okay,” he says finally, softly. He nods down the hall, encouraging her to lead the way, and she does. Felicity traces back the path she’d stumbled almost blindly down in an attempt to get herself away from the situation, from the Sparkses, from the reality of what she’d just seen.

 

In the bullpen, McKenna still stands sentry in front of the door to the briefing room. Felicity figures it’s likely as much to keep the Sparkses within as it is to keep anyone else out. The last thing they need is someone stumbling upon the grieving couple and saying the wrong things.

 

“Everything good?” McKenna asks when they reach her. Felicity doesn’t miss the meaningful look that passes between her and Oliver and, assuming it’s about her reaction to the parents, she feels her cheeks warm with embarrassment. The tips of her fingers tingle, the anxiety spreading from her chest and settling over her in a familiar way.

 

She reminds herself to breathe, counting to herself as she does so.

 

“Yes,” Oliver answers, giving the lieutenant a stiff nod. “Do you think they’re ready?”

 

“Yeah,” McKenna nods, glancing back towards the doors to the room. They’re glass plated, but the blinds on them are drawn, offering privacy to the grieving couple within. “Mr. Sparks knocked a moment ago and said they’re up for it when we’re ready.”

 

Felicity blinks down at her hands as McKenna speaks, lacing her fingers together and trying to understand the heavy pain in her stomach. How is it fair that she’s the one feeling this way? She thinks of Grace and Sidney Sparks inside. There’s a heavy divorce rate for couples who suffer the loss of a child. She’s read a few studies on it, the way grief manifests differently in different people, the way people will tear themselves and their partner apart with it.

 

She wonders if Veronica believed her parents were soulmates. If she ever feared they would split up as a child when they would fight.

 

Maybe she’s projecting a little bit.

 

“I need to check in on what Financial Crimes is doing with the D.A.’s office on the Blackhawk bust,” McKenna goes on, looking between them briefly. “Can you two handle this?”

 

“We’ve got it,” Oliver assures her and it feels a little defensive. Something warm moves through Felicity’s veins, fighting against the cold prickle of her anxiety, at the thought that he might be trying to defend her reaction. 

 

Still, she tenses when McKenna’s gaze moves to her. 

 

“Are you sure?” She asks, the question aimed directly at Felicity this time. It’s softer than she expects. Felicity reminds herself that everyone here is more experienced in this aspect of the job, but they all had to start somewhere. She figures McKenna isn’t trying to question her ability.

 

“Yes,” Felicity nods, straightening her shoulders and working to sound as certain as she can. Even if she isn’t, this is something she has to see through. Felicity Smoak has been called many things – genius, hacker, bottle blonde – but never a quitter.

 

McKenna seems to take her word for it, nodding once before stepping between Felicity and Oliver to head back out to the main area of the bullpen. Oliver reaches for the door handle first, shooting a look back at her before he turns it. Felicity gives him a sharp nod and he pushes the door open.

 

The room is silent in the way funerals and hospitals are. The way that lets you know tragedy has swept through even if you don’t know what it was. The horrified silence after a tornado has barreled through a town. Those split moments of quiet before an earth shattering scream. It’s the sound of destruction.

 

The Sparkses sit in the chairs they’d left them in, but they’re turned towards each other now. Sidney’s head is bowed, leaning in towards his wife, his forehead inches from resting against her chest. Grace’s fingers move tenderly through his hair, pushing back from the roots and revealing the places where the gray hasn’t fully overtaken the brown of it. Brown that matches his daughter’s locks.

 

Felicity and Oliver hesitate in the doorway, not wanting to break the moment, but knowing they don’t have a choice. She risks a glance over at him where he watches the couple. His lips are drawn down into a frown and a muscle in his jaw ticks. He must feel her gaze on him, looking down at her quickly before stepping further into the room.

 

The movement pulls Grace’s attention who looks over at them, her fingers tightening in her husband’s hair. He looks up as well and Felicity’s chest constricts at the puffy redness of his eyes. Oliver returns to the chair settled across from the couple and she follows after him.

 

“We can’t begin to understand what you’re going through,” Oliver starts gently and Felicity tenses, unsure whether the comment will lead to another snap from Sidney. He barely moves, still turned towards Grace, but squeezes his eyes shut. “But, if you’re ready, it’s very important that we ask you a few questions about Veronica.”

 

Grace clears her throat, nodding, before she says, “Yeah. Yeah, we’ll answer what we can.”

 

Her voice wavers but holds firm and Felicity is almost startled by the strength in it. While she had been down the hall dangerously close to a panic attack, here was this mother who they’d just given the worst news a person can hear, holding herself together. But, what other choice does she have?

 

“You said Veronica told you she was staying in last night,” Oliver presses. “Do you know why she would have lied to you?”

 

“She might have wanted to avoid judgement,” Grace says, letting out a heavy sigh. She sounds weary and tired. Felicity wishes they could save her any further pain. 

 

Sidney adds, “Especially if she was using again.”

 

“Using?” Felicity prompts.

 

“Veronica worked so hard while she was in college,” Grace explains. “She tried so hard to keep everything balanced, you know? They tell you to keep your grades up, but that it’s important to be social. She had all these expectations of herself.”

 

“We don’t know when it started or  _ what _ it started with,” Sidney adds, his voice rough with emotion. “It wasn’t until after she graduated that we even found out what was happening. Harder to keep an addiction a secret when you live at home.”

 

“Was she still living with you?” Oliver asks.

 

“No,” Grace says, shaking her head. “No. A while back we got her into a program. She did what she was supposed to do, she came home, started seeing a therapist regularly. We… We thought she had beaten it, you know? Come out the other side of the tunnel or whatever.”

 

“With addicts, it’s really easy to slip back into old habits,” Felicity says gently. “It doesn’t mean she wasn’t trying.”

 

Grace Sparks’ eyes fill with tears suddenly as she stares at Felicity, letting the words sink in. After a moment, she offers a shaky, sad smile and breaks the look.

 

“Veronica was so smart,” Grace says, barely above a whisper as she blinks furiously to combat the tears. “She just put so much pressure on herself.”

 

“You said you got Veronica into a program,” Oliver directs, bringing the conversation back on track. “Where was that?”

 

“Somewhere the county suggested,” Sidney answers, straightening a little to speak with them. His voice is rough with tears, harsh as he speaks the words. “Veronica caused a scene while she was high one night and ended up on the wrong side of a straight jacket.”

 

The euphemism earns him a look from his wife which he shrugs off.

 

“Veronica was in a mental hospital?” Felicity asks, ignoring the poor turn of phrase.

 

“She ended up in the county facility,” Grace explains. “But they suggested a more temporary rehabilitation facility. A little cushier, more expensive but they said it would be better for someone in Veronica’s situation.”

 

“Worked out well,” Sidney comments lowly, earning another look from Grace.

 

“When she finished with the alloted time and felt strong enough to come home, she started seeing a psychiatrist out of the county institute,” Grace concludes.

 

“We’re gonna need their name,” Oliver says and they both nod. “Can you think of any reason someone may have wanted to hurt Veronica?”

 

“I don’t understand,” Sidney says, straightening further and shaking his head. He seems much more composed now, but the evidence of his grief still colors his cheeks red, creates puffiness in his eyes. “I was under the impression Veronica ODed. Do you think someone killed her?”

 

Oliver glances over at Felicity and she meets is eyes for a quick shared look before returning to the parents in front of them.

 

“It’s possible that your daughter’s death is connected to another case we’re investigating,” she explains, admittedly evasively.

 

“We’re just trying to make sure we don’t overlook anything,” Oliver adds. “Anything you can think of might help.”

 

“Um,” Grace says, frowning down at her hands as she thinks about the question. “I’m really not sure. She had some friends at the law firm where she worked who might know if there was something going on.”

 

“Was she seeing anyone?” Felicity presses.

 

“No,” she says, shaking her head again. “She usually told me when she had a date, but she hadn’t been on one in a while. Everytime we talked lately she just seemed really busy, but she couldn’t tell me much about her work.”

 

Oliver glances over at Felicity again, an eyebrow raised in question. Does she have anything else? She gives him a short nod to indicate that she’s finished if he is. He looks back over at the Sparkses, adjusting in his chair to pull his wallet from his pocket.

 

“I think that’s all we need right now,” he says, sliding two cards out of his wallet and passing one across the table to sit in between Grace and Sidney. “Please call me if you think of anything else, okay?”

 

He reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket and produces a pen, flipping the card still in his hand over on the table before sliding it towards the couple.

 

“Could you write down the name of your daughter’s therapist for me, please?” He asks and Grace nods, reaching for the pen. She scribbles a name onto the back of the business card and slides it back towards Oliver. He takes it, tucking it and the pen back away before he stands from the chair. Felicity follows.

 

“Thank you for talking with us,” she says softly, clasping her hands in front of herself. It’s Grace who nods at her, offering another attempt at a smile. It fails halfway through and she has to look away. Felicity lets Oliver lead her towards the door.

 

“You alright?” He asks once the doors close behind them, cutting them off from the Sparkses. She tries not to bristle at the question, knows he’s just trying to check on her. Still, her pride makes an ugly heat form in her stomach.

 

“I’m fine,” she bites, looking up at him. He’s looking down at her, brow pinched, but a soft look on his face. She feels her cheeks go warm under the look and clears her throat. She tries again, a little nicer, “I’m fine, really.”

 

“Okay,” he nods, placing his hand on her shoulder and squeezing gently before pulling it away. Felicity looks down at her shoulder as his hand slips away, trying to remember how many times he’s touched her today.

 

“Oh, good, you’re done,” someone calls, stirring Felicity out of the moment. Oliver takes a step back from her and she spots Alena coming quickly across the bullpen towards them. Dinah follows behind her at a slower pace.

 

“What’s up?” Felicity asks once the women reach them. Alena produces a printout, folded in half, and brandishes it for them.

 

“The ISP sent over an address for our mystery blogger,” she explains and Oliver takes the paper from her, unfolding it to see the printed email. Felicity leans towards him, getting a glance as well.

 

“You up for a drive out there?” Dinah asks, nodding her head towards the paper. He nods and hands the paper off to her before turning to Felicity.

 

“Can you look into Veronica’s phone?” He asks. “There might be something worth looking at on there. We’ll also need to track down her therapist and see if she’ll talk to us.”

 

He fishes the card Grace Sparks had written the name on back out of his pocket and holds it out to her. Felicity nods, taking it from him and handing it off to Alena instead.

 

“Yeah, I can work on recovering whatever I can from the broken phone,” she agrees, looking over at Alena to add, “If we can find the therapist soon, we might be able to get to her office before she closes for the day.”

 

“Did you update McKenna?” Oliver asks, the question directed at Dinah who shakes her head.

 

“Not yet,” she answers.

 

“It’s okay,” Felicity says. “You two should get out to address the ISP sent. I’ll update the Lieutenant and Alena and I will get to work on Veronica Sparks’ case.”

 

“Thanks,” Oliver nods. Alena takes the card from Felicity finally and heads away while Dinah moves back towards her own desk, studying the print out in her hands.

 

“Be careful,” Felicity says, a little needlessly. It earns an amused look from Oliver. “And let me know what you find.”

 

“You’ll be the first,” he promises, nodding once before heading off as well. Felicity glances back at the doors to the briefing room where the Sparkses still sit. She figures McKenna will be able to make sure they get escorted gently from the precinct. At the reminder, she sets off in search of the Lieutenant.

 

\---

 

“That’s weird.”

 

A chair rolls across the linoleum floor as Alena slides over to join Felicity. Veronica Sparks’ phone is hooked up to the monitor in front of her as the data from within transfers through a compiler on the computer.

 

“What is?” Alena asks, looking between the phone and the monitor. “Is the data corrupted?”

 

“No,” Felicity says, shaking her head. “It’s just there’s not really a lot of it. You’d think a woman of her age with a smartphone, she’d have more photos or calendars or emails. You know, something.”

 

“Maybe after she got out of rehab she decided to do some downsizing,” Alena shrugs. The wheels on her chair squeak as she rolls back to her own monitor. “You know, cut out toxic people? I had this friend in college. He had a nervous breakdown and started going to therapy. He ended up cutting out a bunch of people at his therapist’s suggestion, just straight up deleted their numbers and stuff.”

 

Felicity hums in response, watching the progress bar move forward as her computer downloads the information from the phone.

 

“Oh, huh,” Alena says. “Maybe that’s why I stopped hearing from him.”

 

Felicity shakes her head, letting out a chuckle at the other woman’s expense. The green bar reaches the other side of the window and the computer gives a chime to alert to the completion of the download. Felicity picks through the information quickly, looking for something specific.

 

“Or, maybe, she was trying to save space,” she comments as she finds the item she’s looking for. “It looks like she backed her phone up pretty regularly to a computer. She had it set to purge backed up files from her phone.”

 

“That’s not so weird,” Alena says. “Is it?”

 

“It could be a space issue,” Felicity admits. There’s something that rings in the back of her mind though, tells her not to let this lie. “Or she could have been hiding something she didn’t want stored on her phone.”

 

“Like a drug habit,” Alena adds.

 

“Or worse,” Felicity mumbles, mostly to herself. She moves off of the file detailing the backup and begins working her way through contact lists and photo files. Everything is compacted to fit the phone and encrypted so it can’t be read without permission from the owner. It will need to be run through a program for her computer to read it. Which means getting into the phone isn’t going to be as quick and simple as she had hoped.

 

She lets out a groan, settling back into the computer chair she’s taken over. Reaching up, she slides her glasses off of her face with one hand, rubbing slow circles against her temple with the other. She can’t remember the last time she’d gotten a full night’s sleep. She hadn’t managed any last night before she’d headed to Oliver’s apartment to come clean and she’d only been asleep on his couch for maybe two or three hours before the news about John.

 

God, could it have really only been last night that she’d sat with him in the hospital as he’d waited for news on his estranged friend? It’s beginning to feel like time passes so oddly in this city. She’s been here less than a week, but it feels like an eternity. So much has shifted in the last few days alone – both in the case and in her interactions with Oliver.

 

She thinks of him, letting her thoughts drift unintentionally as her eyes slip shut and the sound of Alena’s fingers over her own keyboard washes over her. Only a few days ago, they’d been so at odds with each other. That night at the bar had been a shift but, something about last night had solidified it.

 

All of which are things she can’t be thinking about right now. But all her tired mind can do is catalogue the small touches and the soft words. She doesn’t know what she had expected of Oliver Queen when she’d first arrived in Starling, but none of what she’s gotten has been it.

 

Not that she’s complaining necessarily.

 

The door to the office opening hard enough and with enough haste to make it bang against the wall behind it startles her out of the sleepy state and Felicity sits up in alarm. An officer she doesn’t recognize stands in the doorway, he stares in surprise at the door as he fumbles to catch it when it bounces back off the wall.

 

“Sorry,” he apologizes and, if it weren’t so dark in the small room, Felicity might think he’s blushing. “Detective Queen sent me to find Agent Smoak.”

 

“That’s me,” she says, pushing out the chair. She glances at the monitor in front of her, catching the progress on Veronica’s phone and holding back a yawn. Assuring herself that she has time before the data dump finishes its conversion, she rounds the desk to follow the officer from the room.

 

“Did he say what he needed?” She asks as they make their way down the hallway and towards the stairs. Her mind goes into overdrive on the possibilities of what they may have found at the address the ISP had sent them. She almost regrets not going with him, but she also knows Watson would be on her ass if she knew how much Felicity had been overstepping her duties on this case.

 

It’s lucky Oliver has been so encouraging in it, otherwise she may have ended up on the wrong side of an angry phone call.

 

“They brought in a suspect on your serial killer case,” he says and Felicity falters in her steps, coming to a stop in the middle of the hallway.

 

“They did?” She asks, a little obtusely. This poor guy wouldn’t be lying to her, she knows, but still… Could it really be so easy?

 

He’s staring at her like she’s grown another appendage right in front of him, so she hurries after him, overtaking his pace to beat him up the stairs. Oliver is waiting in the bullpen, but he looks restless. His posture is tense where he stands in front of his desk, his arms folded over his chest. One has broken free from the stance, bent at the elbow so his fingers linger near his chin. The nail of his middle finger scrapes over the pad of his thumb.

 

He spots her as she crosses towards him, dropping his arms and taking a few steps to meet her.

 

“Hey,” she says, resisting the urge to reach out to him. He’s practically buzzing with nerves and it’s such a strange state to see him in, she doesn’t know how to react to it. “What’s going on? I heard you brought someone in.”

 

“The address we got was a residential,” he explains, glancing around the bullpen as he keeps his voice low. “We’ve got the guy who lives there in an interrogation right now. Dinah’s briefing the Captain before we do anything else.”

 

“Okay, so, why do you look like someone just kicked your puppy into the sun?” She asks, frowning at him. This time, she doesn’t hold back when the urge to touch him comes up. Reaching up, she smoothes out the collar of his leather jacket. “This is a good thing, Oliver.”

 

He frowns, a crease forming at his brow as he watches her hand move over the material of his jacket. The wheels are turning in his head, she can tell, trying to find a way to explain what has him so worried. When she pulls her arm back, he motions with his head toward the interrogation rooms.

 

“You said this guy is likely some kind of genius, right?” He asks and she shrugs a little because, yeah, she’d suggested it. But they couldn’t say that for sure yet. Still, it seems unlikely some average Joe could be behind this. “If you’re a genius, why would you post a manifesto naming your victims before you started killing them? Or, at least, why would you stay in the same house?”

 

Felicity fumbles for a moment, processing what he’s suggesting. After a second she offers, “Overconfidence, maybe?”

 

“I don’t know,” Oliver sighs, shaking his head. “Something just doesn’t feel right.”

 

She studies him for a moment as his gaze moves to where the door to the captain’s office remains closed, reading the conviction on his face. She’s not sure there’s many people in this city she can trust. The mayor expects her to fall in line, Adrian Chase seems to be on her take, and they haven’t figured out why Captain Lance met with one of the victims a week before he died.

 

Oliver, though. Oliver she feels, almost inexplicably, like she can trust.

 

“Okay,” she nods, keeping her voice low. It brings his attention back to her. “I’ll back your play on this. What do you need from me?”

 

“Dinah and I are going to interview him,” Oliver explains. “I need you to find whatever you can on him. His name is Joseph Falk.”

 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding once more. “Let me grab my tablet and I’ll watch your interview through the glass.”

 

Oliver offers her a grateful look and a nod before she turns and heads back out of the bullpen. Her purse is still downstairs, settled next to the chair she’d been using. It’s large enough that her tablet fits snugly within and she lifts it out, swiping across the screen to pull up her lockscreen.

 

“Alena, do me a favor,” she instructs as she draws a pattern over the screen to unlock it. Alena hums in response. “I have to oversee this interrogation for Detective Queen. Will you let me know if my data dump finishes converting?”

 

“Sure thing,” Alena says and Felicity looks up from her tablet to find the other woman nodding at her. She offers her a grateful smile and rounds the desks again to head back upstairs. Alena stops her, calling out, “Oh, hey, real quick! I have the information for Veronica Sparks’ therapist.”

 

She holds out a bright orange sticky note with an address and phone number scribbled across it. Felicity balances her tablet with one hand, taking the note and looking it over as she calls a thank you to Alena and heads back out the door.

 

Deciding to prioritize for the moment, she adheres the sticky note to the back of her tablet and climbs the stairs. Already pulling up any information she can find on Joseph Falk as she heads towards the interrogation room. When she gets there, Dinah and Oliver are just heading into the room so she hurries her steps to get to the room on the other side of the glass.

 

Joseph Falk is already sitting at the table. There are no cuffs on his wrist, nothing constraining him to the room. It’s not an official arrest, so much as a questioning. They don’t have enough to go on to get any sort of warrant for an arrest, and maybe that’s what has Oliver feeling unsure. All they have right now is the flimsy evidence of his manifesto.

 

Felicity wonders how long they’ve had him sitting in the room. He’s a tall, thin man with unkempt hair and wrinkled clothes. In any other situation, Felicity might just think he was some suburban husband. There’s moisture building at his temple, a sign of his nerves, and his eyes dart around the room as Oliver and Dinah settle into it.

 

Oliver sits across from Falk in one of the metal chairs, looking much more at ease than he had a few minutes ago when she’d been talking to him. She knows it’s an act, for Falk’s sake. If Oliver comes off as unsure and rattled, it could be used against him.

 

Dinah hangs out near the door, leaning back against the wall with her arms folded over her chest. The detective strikes an imposing figure and Felicity realizes she’s never seen the woman interrogate someone before.

 

“What’s this about?” Falk asks and Felicity gets the feeling he’s asked the same question a handful of times since they’d shown up at his house and has yet to get a real answer.

 

“Your name is Joseph Falk, right?” Oliver asks, earning a nod in response. “Or do you prefer to go by the Savior?”

 

“I…,” Falk fumbles, looking between the detectives in the room. He’s deciding between telling the truth and playing dumb. He opts for the truth. “That’s my username when I post online.”

 

“When you post things calling for the eradication of the elite?” Oliver presses, producing a file folder which he slides onto the table. He flips it open and pulls a stack of papers from within, the printout of Falk’s manifesto. “Things like this?”

 

Falk leans forward to get a better look at the stack as Oliver pushes it across the table towards him. Felicity can see the moment he recognizes it, his eyes going a little wider as he looks back up at Oliver. He glances around wildly again, his palms landing flat on the table, fingers splayed out in desperation.

 

“Listen, man, there’s nothing illegal about hating these wealthy scumbags, alright?” He says, lifting one hand to tent his fingers over the top page of the document. “The people I mention in this, that’s what they are! They’re sub-human. They have no regard for the lives of anyone outside of their immediate circle, and even then most of them would sell the others out for a meal ticket!”

 

Felicity frowns, lifting her tablet to continue looking over the information she’s pulled on Falk as he talks. If he’d sounded paranoid in the printed word, it’s nothing compared to the way he talks now. Oliver and Dinah let him go on, continuing his tirade about the elite few who control everything and face no consequences. Felicity listens as she reads.

 

An article with the name Falk comes up flagged in one of her searches. It’s a local publication from a few years ago and she clicks on the link which brings up the webpage for the newspaper.  **_Lawsuit Against Apartment Owner Thrown Out Before Trial Begins_ ** **.** Felicity scrolls quickly, scanning through the text until she catches the name Falk.

 

“ _...One of the casualties of the apartment fire was Emma Falk, 38, who was asleep in her apartment when the fire broke out. Her husband, Joseph, was the first to publicly suggest that the building hadn’t been up to code which led to the fire.  _

 

_ Nickel’s defense team released a statement following the dropping of the lawsuit that said ‘no reasonable jury’ would have found him liable in the apartment fire…” _

 

The article goes on but Felicity looks up from it, back through the glass separating her from the interrogation going on within. Oliver and Dinah seem to have ended Falk’s tirade against the city’s wealth, but she knows they’d let it go on as long as they could. Don’t really need to bury someone when they’ve already buried themselves.

 

“I was just angry when I wrote that,” Falk insists now. Felicity doesn’t know what question he’s answering, but his voice wavers. “Exercising my First Amendment rights and all that.”

 

“First Amendment rights don’t cover abusive speech with the intent to incite violence, Mr. Falk,” Dinah says. “And they definitely don’t cover murder.”

 

“Murder?” Falk blanches, staring wide eyed up at Dinah where she’s moved closer to the table between him and Oliver. “What are you talking about? I mean, yeah, I’ve made some internet postings and named some names. That’s hardly murder.”

 

“Three of the people you listed in this document,” Oliver starts, tapping the stack of paper with his index finger, “Have turned up dead in the past month.”

 

“I mean, I’d heard about Hunt and Fuller,” Falk says, speaking slowly now as he processes the information he’s being presented with. Felicity watches him, her eyes narrowing as he thinks. She can see wheels turning. Oliver might not think he’s a genius-level intellect capable of these murders, but there’s some level of intelligence hiding beneath the wrinkled surface of him.

 

Finally, he speaks again, quiet and steady. “I think I need a lawyer.”

 

\---

 

Felicity is still standing in the room adjacent to the interrogation room. Falk still sits inside, shifting restlessly in his chair and waiting for someone to tell him what the next move is. They can only hold him for so long before they have to release him. It’s not a formal arrest so there’s really no reason to call a lawyer, but they also can’t force him to talk.

 

The cool metal of her tablet has warmed beneath her grip as she holds it at the top edge, the bottom pressed into her stomach. Her index finger slides back and forth over the nearly forgotten sticky note on the back as she considers the man in the other room.

 

The door to the room she’s in clicks open quietly and she looks over as Oliver slips inside. He closes it behind him, slowly as he makes sure it slides into the frame silently. Trying not to draw attention. She can’t blame him considering everything they’ve been dealing with.

 

“What did you find?” He asks, coming to stand next to her. Like her, he faces the glass in front of them and watches Falk through it.

 

“He used to be a regular guy,” she shrugs. “He worked in IT for the city.”

 

“When we found him, it looked like he hadn’t left his house is months,” Oliver says. “What changed?”

 

Felicity sighs sadly, clicking the button on her tablet to wake it from it’s sleep. She swipes at the screen until Emma Falk’s photo fills the screen and hands it over to Oliver.

 

“She did,” she says as he takes it from her, frowning down at the smiling woman on the screen. “Emma Falk. Joseph’s wife. About three years ago, she died in a fire in their apartment building. There were a handful of casualties and a bunch of the families tried to sue the building owner, John Nickel. The case never even made it to trial.”

 

“I remember this,” he admits. “Nickel used all the money he’d saved from keeping his buildings up to code to make sure none of the lawsuits ever saw the light of day. He died in a car accident about a year and a half ago.”

 

“I tracked Falk’s employment, bills, everything for a few years,” she continues. “About a month after Nickel’s lawsuit got tossed out, he just disappeared. Totally off grid.”

 

“Until today, apparently,” he sighs and she nods, frowning at the thought. Oliver hands her tablet back to her and she locks it again, wrapping her arms around it and pulling it flat against her chest as she continues to watch Falk. After a moment, Oliver asks, “What are you thinking?”

 

Felicity turns to face him fully and he mimics the stance, eyebrows raising in question.

 

“Falk might not be a genius, but he is smart,” she says. “More than that, he’s tech savvy. A guy like that knows how to disappear and managed to do so successfully for almost two years. So, how did he slip up with the post?”

 

“Overconfidence?” Oliver suggests, echoing her earlier thought. She bites down on the inside corner of her lip and looks back to where Falk has pulled himself from the uncomfortable chair and is now pacing in the interrogation room.

 

“It all feels a little easy, doesn’t it?” She asks quietly.

 

“Maybe sometimes it just is easy,” Oliver shrugs and she looks back at him, studying his face.

 

“Do you really believe that?” She presses. 

 

He’s quiet for a moment, looking away from her to where Falk continues to pace, prowling from one end of the room to the other like a caged jungle cat. There are tigers at the National Zoo in D.C. Felicity has been there a handful of times when she’s had a day off. They prowl along the edges of their enclosures, watching and chuffing at people as they gawk at them. They look mean, angry. But she’s watched the live cams of them as their handlers give them food and toys, as they splash through their small ponds, running along like house cats and rolling each other playfully.

 

William of Ockham can believe whatever he likes. Felicity knows better than to trust the easiest answer.

 

“No,” Oliver admits finally and she nods at him. His eyes move downwards and catch on something. Felicity startles when his hand comes up, pointing at her chest, before she remembers her tablet pressed there and the bright orange sticky note attached. “What’s that?”

 

“Oh,” she says, flipping tablet around to peel the note away and hand it to him. “Alena found the info for Veronica Sparks’ therapist. I figured we’d work on that after we dealt with Falk.”

 

“Yeah,” he nods. “We’ll have to talk to her. We also need to reach out to Veronica’s law firm, see who knew her well there.”

 

“If it’s possible, I’d like to get a peek at her personal computer, too,” Felicity says. “Her phone doesn’t hold much data and it seems like she backed it up a lot. There might be something on her computer that will tell us something.”

 

“Have you gone through her phone yet?” He asks, folding the sticky note carefully so that the adhesive presses against the paper on the other side.

 

“It’s still converting,” she says. “I asked Alena to let me know when it’s finished.”

 

“Well, it’s past normal business hours, so I doubt we’ll manage to get in with her therapist or her office,” he sighs. “But we can call her landlord, get them to let us into her apartment. Her personal computer will probably be there.”

 

“What about Falk?” She asks, turning back to face the glass window in front of them. Falk has settled again, dropping back into the metal chair and settling his head down on his arms. If there weren’t still a chance he could be their killer, Felicity would feel bad for him.

 

“They’ll let him go in a little bit,” Oliver shrugs. “Once they think they’ve appropriately scared him. Dinah is setting up a watch on his place right now, but she has to get Lance’s permission.”

 

“That manifesto is flimsy evidence,” she points out and Oliver nods silently next to her. After a moment, she straightens her shoulders and turns to him again. He looks over at her and she says, “Let’s go find something better.”

 

Oliver smirks at her, throwing a hand out towards the door he had come through.

 

“Lead the way, partner,” he says and she knows he’s teasing her.

 

Still, she kind of likes the sound of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing that "article clipping" was so weird because I had to switch my brain to AP Style in the middle of it just to try and make the article seem realistic lmao


	11. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Investigations into Veronica Sparks may begin to yield more than they'd bargained for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> over a month. i hate myself. i'm so sorry, y'all. please enjoy this chapter i've been dying to put it out!!

It takes some work on Felicity and Alena’s end to track down the owner of Veronica’s apartment complex. Oliver doesn’t typically run into trouble with getting into a deceased person’s dwelling. Once their tenant is dead, the expectation of privacy afforded by landlords is more or less gone with them. Most apartment owners prefer things like murder investigations be handled quickly and quietly so they can find a new renter.

 

He leans against the desk Felicity is working at, his patience waning. Her fingers move almost imperceptibly over the keyboard. Quick, familiar movements as the glow from the monitor reflects off of her glasses. He studies her for a moment and can see how she would have thrived as a hacker.

 

Maybe in another life she made a whole life of it. Maybe there’s a universe where she’s out there wreaking havoc on the world via the world wide web. Still, he can’t imagine her in a position where she isn’t trying to help people.

 

Her movements stop suddenly and she tosses her head back, eyes squeezed shut.

 

“Oliver, have you ever heard the phrase a watched pot never boils?” She asks and he raises his eyebrows at the non sequitur.

 

“It’s a pretty common saying, yeah,” he says.

 

“Consider me the pot,” she says, tilting her head back down so she can give him a look. He tries to fight the smirk on his face, he really does. “Stop watching me boil.”

 

He puts his hands up in a defensive gesture, not realizing she had noticed his staring. In his defense, it’s been about three weeks since the last time he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. Come to think of it, the last three times he’s dozed off for any amount of time, it had been Felicity who’d woken him up.

 

Not that he can blame her for his constant sleep deprivation.

 

“Sorry,” he says quietly, aware of the way Alena’s typing has stopped as she pretends not to listen to them. “Mind was elsewhere.”

 

The quiet sound of keyboards clicking continues as Felicity returns to her task, but it only makes him more antsy to get things moving. They should have just headed out to the address on Veronica Sparks’ ID and seen if they could get inside, rather than trying to track down a clearly flakey landlord.

 

He’s about to say as much when Felicity’s hand flies up into the air in a small fist pump with a quiet ‘yes!’ Before he can ask what she’s found, she’s reaching for the desk phone settled in between the monitors in front of her and pulls the headset towards her ear.

 

“Got a phone number,” she explains, cupping her hand over the receiver and looking up at him. “Looks like a cell, so we should be able to- Oh, hi! Is this, um, Mr. Arber? Oh, great, okay. My name is Felicity Smoak and I’m working with the SCPD. We need to speak with you about a tenant of yours, are you able to meet us at the property?”

 

She’s quiet for a moment as she listens to the voice on the other end and Oliver leans forward unconsciously, eager to be a part of the conversation. He can hear the low tone of Arber’s voice through the speaker, but his words are indecipherable. Her eyes flicker over to the monitor again and she reads off which property Veronica lived at.

 

“Actually, it’s pretty urgent,” she explains. “Could you meet us immediately?”

 

She looks over at Oliver, a wide smile lighting up her features and – damn, if he were the type to get butterflies. The light of the monitor washes her skin with a blue hue, but her eyes are wide and vibrant with the color of the monitor mingling within them and Oliver has to stop himself from leaning forward further to count the different shades there.

 

Her hand comes up again, startling him out of the reverie, and she flashes him a thumbs up.

 

“Sounds amazing,” she says and Oliver doesn’t know what the landlord has said but something in him is infected by the happiness in her voice. Like something may actually go right for the first time in weeks. Maybe she’s brought some good luck into town with her.

 

She hangs up the phone and is pushing out of her chair, making Oliver realize how close he’d managed to hover while she was on the phone.

 

“He can meet us now,” she explains, pulling her pink trench coat off the back of the computer chair.

 

“Good work,” he says, clearing his throat and pushing off of his slumped position against the desk. Something in his spine shifts with the movement and he thinks about waking up on his couch that morning, Felicity’s toes nudging his thigh. He’ll definitely be paying for that for a few days.

 

“Do you know where it is?” She asks and he glances at the screen, catches sight of the address again.

 

“Yeah,” he nods. “We’ll take my car.”

 

“Well, we can’t really take mine,” she teases, already moving past him like she owns the place. A few days and she’s already made herself so comfortable in all the spaces he had considered his own – well, in fairness, he’d barely made the trek down to the technical department before Felicity had shown up.

 

“Cute,” he says, taking a few quick strides to catch up with her. Her height and the heels on her feet make her easy to outpace but the way she grins up at him as they cross through the doorway makes him want to hang by her side.

 

\---

 

They stop for coffee on the way to Veronica’s apartment building. Oliver watches smugly as Felicity’s drink is made – frothed milk, heaps of sugar, caramel flavoring – while he sips at his own simple black coffee. She tosses a glare at him, catching his gaze and realizing he’s remembering her show of confidence from their second day together.

 

“Just because I don’t like black coffee,” she says, taking the drink from the barista as she slides it across the counter, “Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have offered to share.”

 

He hums, nodding placatingly at her.

 

The landlord, Michael Arber, is waiting for them when they arrive at the apartment. When they explain the situation, he seems shocked by the news but not particularly emotional over it. Oliver’s seen that before. Landlords around here rarely take much of a personal interest in their tenants, running multiple buildings full of people. All Veronica Sparks’ death really means to Michael Arber is the loss of a rent check.

 

Still, Felicity asks some generic questions as he leads them up to Veronica’s floor – things about her family and friends, about how much time she spent at home, if she seemed to return at all hours – but Arber isn’t the one to have the answer. Oliver makes a mental note to knock on some of her neighbors’ doors, see if they’re more familiar with Veronica’s comings and goings.

 

“Do you all need me to stick around?” Arber asks as he unlocks the door to Veronica’s apartment, pushing it open. Felicity steps past him over the threshold. “I was in the middle of something when you called.”

 

“That’s alright,” Oliver says, shaking his head. “We won’t take up any more of your evening. We can lock up when we leave. Just don’t let anyone else into this room after we leave, we might need to come back with a lab crew.”

 

“Sure, sure,” Arber says, his head bobbing in agreement and Oliver can tell he’s eager to get out of the situation. He’d be more concerned about Arber’s behavior meaning he knows more than he’s letting on but Oliver knows his type. He’s probably never met a cop he liked, or that liked him.

 

Giving him a grateful nod, he steps past Arber into the apartment. Felicity has already spotted a laptop on the coffee table and settled herself onto the couch in front of it. The door shuts behind Arber as he leaves, the lock clicking into place, and Oliver joins her.

 

“Personal computer?” He prompts and she nods. It looks like a typical Macbook, smooth and slim. There’s a skin on the top that covers the metal with purple flowers. Felicity pulls it onto her lap and flips the lid open.

 

“That’s secure,” she sighs and Oliver spots the bright orange sticky note next to the mouse pad with what is clearly a password written down on it. She types it into the screen when it pops up and, sure enough, it grants her access into the computer.

 

While she searches the laptop, Oliver pushes up off of the couch to look around the rest of the apartment. There’s a re-corked, half drank bottle of wine on the counter in her kitchen and he frowns at it, twisting it around by the neck to check the label.

 

Addicts aren’t supposed to drink once they’ve gone through rehab. The label lists it, in small curly letters, as non-alcoholic. So, if Veronica had gone back to shooting up, she was still keeping away from alcohol. He pulls her fridge open, checking for anything else within that might disprove that theory. Her fridge is stocked with fresh ingredients, but he doesn’t spot anything questionable – besides the browning color to the bag of spinach.

 

“Feeling snacky?” Felicity calls glibly from the living room. He shakes his head, crossing back through the archway to the kitchen to rejoin her. She doesn’t even look up from the laptop.

 

“A person’s fridge can tell you a lot about them,” he explains. “Veronica looks like a health nut.”

 

“Compensating for all the heroin?” She questions, more to herself, frowning at the computer screen. Oliver hums, unconvinced and crosses towards the front door. There’s a small stack of mail built up on the table next to it and he flips through them, checking the senders. Mostly bills, a call for donations from her alma mater, a few credit card applications.

 

He hears the laptop snapping shut behind him and Felicity lets out a sigh. Turning, he shoots her a curious look.

 

“There’s basically nothing on there,” she explains, waving a hand towards the computer. “As far as I can tell, all she used it for was music, social media and email. No work documents, no phone backups, nothing.”

 

“Maybe she backed her phone up to a work computer,” he offers. Felicity is still frowning at the computer, seeming unconvinced by his suggestion. “Listen, let’s just look around the place, see what we can find. We’ll try to talk to some of her neighbors and then we’ll call it a night. We can’t do anything about her coworkers or her therapist until tomorrow.”

 

“You’re right,” she nods. He sets the mail back down on the table and she crosses to a hallway off the living room which he figures leads to the bedroom. He’s checking out the drawers in her coffee table when he hears Felicity give out some kind of frustrated sound before calling his name.

 

“You alright?” He calls, coming down the hallway she’d disappeared into. He finds her in the bedroom, half hidden in a large closet as she reaches up as far as she can. Her heels are entirely off the ground as she stretches upwards, the tips of her fingers just barely brushing the high shelf above her.

 

He smirks at her, taking quick steps to reach her before she knocks the shelf over or falls in her ridiculously narrow heels.

 

“Here, let me, you’re gonna hurt yourself,” he says, reaching around her for whatever she’s looking for. He can see the edge of something and his fingers slide over smooth plastic. They catch on the edge and he gets a grip on it, pulling it down from the shelf. He holds the slim black laptop out to Felicity who takes it with a frown.

 

“Does everyone in this city have a secret laptop?” She asks, looking up at him. He can see the moment she realizes how close he’s gotten to her, his body nearly molded to hers as he’d reached over her to grab the laptop. He knows because he realizes as well, he’s closer to her than he’s ever allowed himself to get.

 

“Um,” he says, eloquently. 

 

Felicity blinks up at him and he could drop down, just a few inches, and he’d be able to press his mouth to hers. Taste more than the stain of her lipstick, left on the lip of his coffee lid. She lets the laptop drop in her grasp so it settles flat against her stomach, removing one more barrier in the space between them. His body sways towards her, magnetically, and she licks her lips like maybe she’s thinking the same thing he is.

 

“Oliver…” She breathes his name like a question, low and unsure, and he aches to swallow the sound. He wants her more than he’s allowed himself to want someone in a long time. They’ve been heading here since she walked into the captain’s office, a wave finally built with enough momentum, ready to crest and swallow the unsuspecting shore whole.

 

He’s never thought of drowning as enticing until now.

 

The sound of the doorknob shaking in the front room pulls their attentions, breaking them out of the moment. Felicity twists, looking away from him and towards the hallway they’d come down instead. It takes Oliver another moment to pull his eyes from her profile.

 

“Arber?” She asks, voice dropping to a whisper. Oliver is coming back to himself, frowning towards the hallway and stepping around her. The doorknob jiggles again from the other room and he heads for the door.

 

“He has a key,” he reminds her, shaking his head. He throws a hand out when he can feel her following behind him, halting her in place with a frown. He instructs, “Stay here.”

 

He waits a moment for her to nod, her brow still pinched in concern, before turning and continuing down the hallway. Settling his hand on his gun at his waist, he steps quietly towards the door and pulls it from the holster. There’s a metallic scraping sound coming from the door and he recognizes the sound of a lock in the middle of being picked.

 

He tugs the door open, startling the person on the other side back into the wall. He’s a tall, lanky guy dressed in an olive coat with a dark cap pulled down over his eyes. He must see the gun leveled at him, though, because he bolts before Oliver’s even made it out into the hallway with him. Oliver gives chase, following him down the hall where the guy pushes through the heavy door to the stairwell, faster than Oliver would have expected.

 

“Hey, stop!” Oliver shouts, leaning over the railing of the stairway before following the would-be intruder down the four flights to the lower level. When he makes it out onto the street, the man is already gone, disappeared down one alley or another. Maybe he’d had a car waiting for him.

 

“Dammit,” Oliver growls before heading back upstairs. When he makes it back to the apartment, he steps on something as he enters, lifting his foot to find the lost pair of lockpicks. The runner had been wearing gloves, but evidence is evidence, so he pulls a bag from Veronica’s kitchen drawer and goes back to carefully pick the tools up with it.

 

Felicity is sitting on the bed when he makes it back to the bedroom, looking surprisingly at ease for someone who’s just heard him chase after a would-be intruder. Her eyes are scanning over the screen of the found laptop.

 

“What happened?” She asks, without looking up. Regardless, Oliver holds the plastic bag up, shaking the contents and creating a soft jingling sound.

 

“Some guy with lockpicks,” he explains. “He disappeared before I could catch up to him.”

 

“Well, it’s possible Veronica Sparks was not just an average paralegal,” Felicity comments, earning an eyebrow raise from him.

 

“What’d you find?” He asks. She looks up now, spinning the laptop around for him to see the screen lighting it up. He frowns, recognizing the heavy grade encryption keeping the laptop locked down from prying eyes. Prying eyes exactly like his and Felicity’s? Or like whoever had just attempted to break in to her apartment?

 

“This could take me a while to break through,” she admits and Oliver nods.

 

“Let’s take it back to the precinct,” he suggests. From the way Felicity’s shoulders fall as she closes up the laptop, he can tell they’re both thinking the same thing. It’s gonna be another long night.

 

Felicity packs up both computers from the apartment in a bag Oliver provides from his car, along with anything important or interesting they find in the apartment. He eyes one of the bills from her stack of mail, a letter from the rehabilitation services she was attending, and decides to take that with them as well.

 

While she searches for the charger that accompanies the found laptop in the closet, he decides to try knocking on a few of her neighbors doors. The apartment down to her right is empty, quiet within, no light coming through the space between the door and the carpeted floor of the hallway. On the other side, a short, tired looking woman answers the door.

 

“Sin,” Oliver frowns down at her. She’s tiny in comparison to him, small even compared to his sister, with short black hair. She blinks up at him a few times before snapping her fingers and pointing at her.

 

“Overprotective brother,” she says, covering a yawn with her other hand. Her gaze flickers down to his waist and he sees some sort of recognition flicker in her eyes. “Ah, right, overprotective  _ cop  _ brother. I just got a text from your sister saying I might be getting a call from the SCPD.”

 

“Did you just wake up?” Oliver asks. She looks disheveled, hair tousled on top of her head and too-big pajama pants hanging from her waist.

 

“Don’t judge, Officer,” Sin gripes, turning away from him to head back into her apartment. He doesn’t bother correcting her. “I don’t exactly have a nine-to-five.”

 

He takes it as an invitation, stepping inside after her. Where Veronica’s place had been full of natural light and tidy, Sin’s is dark and unkept. Blackout drapes over her windows block out the setting sun. Oliver considers what Sin has said and admits that it makes sense she’d spent most of the day asleep. Managing a club will turn one nocturnal.

 

He frowns, remembering why he’s standing in her apartment.

 

“You’re neighbors with Veronica Sparks?” He asks and Sin spins back around, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow at him. He’s met Sin a handful of times and, yeah, ‘handful’ is probably the best descriptor for the woman. She’s a few years younger than his sister and even less of a fan of authority figures. Which is probably what she sees Oliver as, especially when he’s standing in her apartment with his badge and gun, asking questions.

 

“Yeah,” Sin says slowly. “Is that why you’re here? I thought it was something to do with the club.”

 

“It is,” he nods. “Was Veronica at Verdant last night?”

 

“Um, no,” she says, frowning like she’s trying to remember. “At least, not that she told me. She usually gives me a heads up if she’s coming by. What’s this about?”

 

“You might want to sit down,” he suggests, sighing when Sin only widens her stance and stares him down. “We found Veronica’s body a few blocks from Verdant this morning.”

 

Sin’s arms fall from their defensive position as she absorbs the information. Her eyes go a little wide, making her look more her age than ever. Oliver knows Sin had seen hard times before she’d met his sister, thinks herself impervious. In his experience, no one is impervious to this.

 

“Veronica’s dead?” She asks quietly. Oliver nods in confirmation and Sin moves away from him, crossing to her couch and sitting down on the arm of it. He takes a few steps further into her living room, unsure how to comfort this woman he knows, but doesn’t.

 

It’s a strange line to toe, but he doesn’t think Sin would appreciate him getting to close right now.

 

“Were you two close?” He asks gently instead, hovering a few feet in front of her. Her brow pinches as she shrugs in response to the question.

 

“Kind of,” she says, unsure. “We’d moved into the building around the same time and most of the other people here are older. I thought she was gonna be this uptight legal type, but she was pretty cool. Our schedules meant we were usually catching each other on the way out the door.”

 

“Did she come by Verdant often?” He presses.

 

“Not a lot,” Sin shrugs, looking up at him from where she’d been examining her hands. “I mentioned working there and invited her by, but she told me about how she was in a program so she wasn’t really allowed to drink. Sometimes she’d come by to blow off steam with some people from work and I’d make sure the bartender had some non-alcoholic drinks for her.”

 

“So, she definitely wasn’t drinking?” He asks, frowning.

 

“Not any time I saw her,” she says. “She seemed pretty serious about the whole thing.”

 

“Do you know what kind of program she was in?” He pushes further. “Did she tell you anything about it?”

 

“Said she used to use heroin, but we didn’t talk about it much,” she admits. “Veronica always seemed like she just wanted to put it all behind her, you know? Try to move forward with her life. She’d say stuff like she was reciting it from her therapist sometimes. It always kind of sounded like sentimental crap to me, but it seemed to help her.”

 

“Did she seem off at all?” He asks. “The last few times you saw her?”

 

“She seemed,” Sin considers, trying to find the right words. “Overworked, but that was hardly new for her. I just figured she’d gotten handed something big at work. They always had her researching stuff, clients and laws or whatever. I don’t know much about it.”

 

He considers this for a moment. If Veronica was feeling overwhelmed at work, it could have triggered a relapse. Still, her apartment was pristine and there were no signs of drug or alcohol abuse that he could see. Maybe he just needed to look a little harder. He makes a mental note to call Dr. Schwartz tomorrow morning.

 

“Oliver?” He hears his name coming through the open door to Sin’s apartment just before Felicity peaks around it. He offers her a nod before turning back to Sin.

 

“Thanks for your help,” he says. “And I’m sorry about Veronica. I’ll give you a call if I need anything else and you can get my number from Thea if you think of anything.”

 

Sin nods, pulling her arms back around herself as she slides from the arm of the couch down onto the cushions. Oliver spins away from her and takes a moment to breathe deeply before he moves back to her apartment door. Felicity is watching him, but doesn’t comment.

 

“Your sister knows Veronica’s neighbor?” She asks quietly, once he’s pulled the apartment door shut behind him. “Is it that small of a city?”

 

“Sin is the general manager at Verdant,” he explains.

 

“So, yes,” she frowns. “It’s exactly that small of a city.”

 

Oliver sighs, shaking his head. “Everything in this city is connected, one way or another.”

 

\---

 

“You should get some sleep,” Oliver comments.

 

He’s taken over Alena’s computer chair, the resident computer geek having long since left the office. There are remnants of his and Felicity’s shared dinner on the pushed together desks that make up the department’s technical division. He hadn’t really realized how small and sad the place was until he’d started spending more time down here.

 

They’d ordered takeout from Russo’s, a family-owned Italian place a few blocks from the precinct. He’d helped the owners out of a sticky situation with a mob family a few years back and they always thanked him with extra breadsticks. 

 

Felicity had sighed in bliss when she’d pulled up the menu on her monitor, “Oh, I love Italian.”

 

Oliver realized at some point, while he’d been spearing the thick slices of mozzarella in his caprese side salad, that he’s eaten more meals with Felicity over the past week than he has with anyone else since, well, McKenna.

 

“I don’t want to leave the laptop here alone,” she says, even as she covers a yawn with the back of her hand. He knows for a fact that she got very little sleep the night before, having fallen asleep on the couch next to her while she was still reading over the files on his laptop.

 

It had taken her a while to break through the encryption keeping the computer locked down, but she’d managed it with a triumphant whoop that had startled him so much he’d nearly dropped his container of chicken parmesan. Behind the layer of security, though, she only found another one.

 

She’d had to break another encryption key in order to make any of the data on the laptop readable, a process she had tried to explain to him in full detail, but he’d been distracted by the way her ravioli had smeared her lipstick at the corner of her mouth, leaving it in remnants across her lips. He doubts he would have understood her even if he had been able to focus on her words.

 

She’s not the only one who’s running on a downright dangerous lack of sleep.

 

“We could lock the room up,” he suggests, earning a look from her. They aren’t really doing anything. She has a code running through and decrypting each individual piece of data. It doesn’t take any input, so right now all they’re doing is waiting for it to finish. Which Felicity says could still take hours due to the amount of data on the laptop.

 

“Oliver, how many people have a key to this room?” She asks, raising an eyebrow at him. He knows she has a point. “We don’t really know who we can trust right now, so I’m not letting this computer out of my sight until I have at least three copies of each individual file.”

 

“Fine,” he says, settling a little further into his own borrowed computer chair. Felicity watches him, her eyes moving over him as he shifts in the seat. Alena is much shorter than him, so it’s a little lower to the ground than he’d like, but he knows better than to mess with someone else’s chair.

 

“You should go home and get some sleep,” she suggests softly and he frowns at her. “You’re exhausted. When’s the last time you even got a full night’s sleep? You fell asleep at that desk in Blackhawk yesterday.”

 

“Felicity, if you’re staying,” he tells her seriously. “Then, I’m staying.”

 

She stares at him a moment longer, blinking and trying to digest his words. Her cheeks have gone a little pink, even in the lowlight of the monitors around them, and he can tell he’s said a little too much. He clears his throat, sitting up and trying to explain himself.

 

“Like you said, we don’t know who we can trust,” he goes on. “And you’re already in the mayor’s crosshairs. I’m not going to leave you here. I need to know that you’re safe.”

 

Apparently, that doesn’t help, because the pink turns to a red and she looks away from him. He’ll blame his lack of sleep for the way words aren’t seeming to work around her today. They haven’t exactly addressed their moment in Veronica’s apartment and he doesn’t intend to if she doesn’t. Nothing but danger lies down that path and after his conversations with Thea and McKenna, he knows it’d be stupid of him to let his attraction to Felicity get the better of him.

 

“I never asked,” she starts, shifting her shoulders and watching lines of code move across the computer connected to Veronica’s laptop. “What did Veronica’s neighbor tell you?”

 

They’d been so caught up with the laptops and getting the lockpicks checked into evidence and a patrolman sent over to keep an eye on Veronica’s apartment, he had forgotten to tell Felicity what Sin had said about Veronica.

 

“She said Veronica visited Verdant sometimes, but that she never drank any real alcohol,” he says, recalling his conversation with Sin. “Once you go through a rehab program, even narcotics anonymous, you’re supposed to give up all vices. A lot of people are even encouraged not to smoke.”

 

“There’s a big genetic component to addiction,” Felicity says, almost like she’s thinking aloud. Her eyes have drifted shut, listening to him with her chin resting on her palm. “A lot of it is about brain chemistry, so when someone gives up one addiction, you want them to keep from trying to fulfill that need with a new one.”

 

“Well, Sin said it seemed like Veronica was really trying to stay clean,” he shrugs. “But she also said she seemed overwhelmed by something at work.”

 

“Could cause a relapse,” she considers, echoing his thoughts from earlier and he hums in acknowledgement. Her eyes pop up to look at him, studying him for a moment. Finally, she declares, “But you don’t think it did.”

 

“I don’t have anything definitive,” he admits.

 

“You’re a cop, Oliver,” she says, holding his gaze. “Trust your instincts. What’s your gut telling you?”

 

“I’ve been to drug addicts apartments,” he says after a long moment of contemplation. “I’ve seen how they lived, how they hid their addictions and how they couldn’t. I’ve walked scenes of overdoses in bathrooms and bedrooms. Veronica’s apartment was spotless. She was going to therapy, taking her counselors words to heart. She was drinking non-alcoholic wine no more than a few days before she died. There was nothing there, that I saw, to suggest she had relapsed.”

 

“Sometimes it only takes once,” she offers and he knows she’s not questioning him so much as trying to make him look at all sides of the problem. See the forest for the trees. “Maybe she went to Verdant that night and met someone who asked her to get high with them. Or maybe she called an old dealer. Anything might have triggered her that night.”

 

“I know we don’t have all the information,” he says, tilting his head imploringly towards her. “It just doesn’t feel right. Don’t you feel that?”

 

Felicity is quiet for a moment, her gaze returning to the screen in front of her. The lines of data and code are moving by so fast that Oliver can’t even track them, but he gets the feeling Felicity can. Her eyes move over the screen, the light reflected off the lenses of her glasses, making it look almost like the code is a part of her. An extension of her own mind.

 

“Yeah,” she says finally. “Yeah, I do.”

 

\---

 

By the time the data finishes and Felicity is copying it over onto a hard drive she’d produced from her bag, they’ve reached the stage of exhaustion where they don’t even feel tired anymore.

 

“You just carry a backup hard drive around with you?” Oliver had asked, watching her plug the cord from the drive into Veronica’s laptop. The plastic casing had a small green light in it that began to flash as Felicity moved the files over.

 

“Don’t judge,” she’d said. “You have your gun, I have my hard drives.”

 

He’d chosen not to comment on her use of the plural. Instead, they’d settled into their chairs once more, prepared to wait as the data copied over. They’d each taken a few turns letting their eyes rest throughout the night, but Oliver knew it wasn’t enough to sustain them. Sooner or later, their bodies were going to insist upon real sleep.

 

For now, though, they’re just continuing to wait on the technology. Oliver is sure Felicity would swear by it, but it’s not his favorite means of getting information. People lie and keep secrets, but he’s good at reading them, knows when to push and where to prod to get the information he needs. He’d always been good at charming people out of their darkest secrets.

 

“I swear I’ve flown right past tired to awake again,” she comments, watching the progress bar move incrementally across the screen. It’s nearing the edge, at least, but it feels like they’ve been waiting for hours.

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Oliver sighs, settling further into his chair. He stretches his legs out, something in his right knee makes a grinding noise with the movement, and puts his feet on one of the wheels on her chair. “Are we really gonna sit here while you make three different copies of every file?”

 

Felicity laughs and Oliver’s body feels suddenly warm. 

 

“I guess I was being a little dramatic,” she admits. “I do like to have back ups though.”

 

“Well, if you need to do it, it’s fine,” he says. “I don’t want to screw up your process.”

 

“It’s fine,” she shrugs. “Once it’s on this drive, I can make copies on my tablet. You could probably head out if you want.”

 

She sounds hesitant, like she wants him to stay but doesn’t want him to feel obligated. He’s quiet for a minute as he watches her, her gaze focused on the screen in front of her, the little green bar that moves slowly towards the other side.

 

Finally, he says, “Like you said, I’m pretty much awake at this point. No use going home now.”

 

She spins in her chair suddenly to face him, searching for the sincerity of his words. He knows he means it, so he tries not to worry about what she’ll find there.

 

“It’s still too early for the law practice or the therapist’s office to be open,” she reminds him and he glances over at the monitor to his left, catching the time in the corner of the screen. She’s right, he realizes, it’s still much earlier in the day than he had anticipated.

 

“There’s a diner around the corner,” he suggests instead. “They make amazing crêpes.”

 

The statement pulls a laugh from her and he watches as her face changes with it, her eyes lighting in mirth, and it pulls a startled smile from him as well. He leans forward in his seat a little.

 

“What?” He asks as she continues to giggle. He thinks it’s the sleep deprivation making her a little manic, but it’s infectious and he bites down on his tongue to keep from joining her in it.

 

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head once she’s managed to calm her giggles. “I just wouldn’t have pegged you as a breakfast sweets kind of guy.”

 

“Why?” He asks, chuckling a little with her. He understands, all black coffee and hard edges. She’s only seen the parts of him he lets out into the world, the face he puts on to keep himself moving, to avoid attachment and pain. He wants to show her the rest. “It’s, like, the only reason to even have breakfast. Sometimes you have to indulge, right?”

 

Something in the statement sobers her up, has her sitting up in the chair and staring at him. When he realizes what he’s said, he doesn’t want to take it back, though he wonders if he would were he better rested and caffeinated. 

 

“A little self-indulgence,” she echoes finally, raising her chin a bit and smirking at him. “I think I can get behind that.”

 

The computer behind her chimes with the copied files.

 

“Breakfast it is, then,” he nods, pushing himself up out of the computer chair. His body protests the movement, reminding him how long he’d been sitting in the chair for. They’d barely gotten up to leave the room since they’d finished dinner. “I need to call Schwartz’s office real quick and then we’ll head out.”

 

“I’ll get things packed up and meet you upstairs,” she says and he gives another nod, squeezing her shoulder gently as he passes by her chair and out of the room.

 

The precinct is pretty quiet this early in the morning. The bars have closed and anyone in the drunk tank is passed out, no longer causing a stir. Most of the people milling around the bullpen are only vaguely familiar, holdovers from the night shift waiting to be excused from duty so they can go home and get sleep.

 

There’s someone at his desk, so he heads for a quiet hallway instead as he dials the number for the Medical Examiner’s office. A voicemail service picks up and he’s not particularly surprised. Emergency calls usually go right to Schwartz’s line and he’s not eager to pull her from her sleep for a single question.

 

Instead, he leaves a message for her to call him first thing when she gets in to talk about the Veronica Sparks autopsy.

 

“What are you thinking?” Felicity asks from behind him and he turns to her. She’s let her hair out of its ponytail, creating a crimp in the middle of it as it falls around her face. He figures the band had started to irritate her and remembers they’re both still in their clothes from yesterday.

 

“Just a hunch I need Dr. Schwartz to either confirm or deny,” he explains and she nods in understanding. He holds his arm out in the direction of the exit and asks, “Breakfast?”

 

Felicity’s face softens as she nods, smiling up at him. There are shadows beneath her eyes, unconcealed by makeup after the few days they’ve had, and he figures he must look similar. Still, early sunlight from outside pours through a window at the end of the hallway, catching on the angles of her and creating a sort of glow. Oliver blinks a few times, his mind feeling hazy.

 

“Lead the way,” she says and he moves past her, frowning at himself. Sleep or no sleep, he’s going to pull himself together over breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the goal is not to take another month. we're really gonna try i swear!


	12. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felicity and Oliver have a questionable encounter at breakfast that sets them on edge. A visit to Veronica's place of employment and therapist's office only manages to yield more secrets -- both Veronica's and Oliver's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone suggested a previously on type thing after these long breaks between uploads, which is a really good idea so thank you for that! Let's give it a try;
> 
> PREVIOUSLY ON BLACK WATER:
> 
> A search of Veronica Sparks' apartment yielded more secrets - like hidden computer files and a would-be intruder. But after seeing her apartment and meeting her neighbor, Oliver is beginning to question the likelihood of an overdose. Felicity suggested he trust his instincts and Oliver suggested crepes.

“So, tell me,” Felicity starts slowly, folding her hands in front of her on the laminate table top and earning an eyebrow raise from Oliver across the table, “About your sister.”

 

Oliver’s face pinches in surprised confusion. “What?”

 

“You two seem…,” she trails off, searching for the proper adjective and hoping Oliver will give her an out and suggest one. He only stares at her in amusement, toying with the string of the teabag hanging over the edge of his mug. She gives a huff, “I don’t have a sibling, okay? I don’t how you should be!”

 

He laughs at that and the sound is delightful so she doesn’t bother feeling too embarrassed. Instead, she swipes at the whipped cream piled on top of her mug with her index finger, popping it into her mouth. When she looks back up, Oliver is watching the movement. Her body burns with a flush and she clears her throat.

 

“I’m just still trying to peel back the layers of Oliver Queen,” she explains, once her face no longer feels as if it might catch on fire. “Is that so terrible?”

 

Oliver tilts his head, a smirk on his lips as he opens his mouth and she holds up a hand.

 

“Okay, don’t answer that,” she instructs. “Stupid question.”

 

He chuckles again and, this time, she uses her spoon to pick off another bit of whipped cream before stirring the rest of the topping into the hot chocolate beneath it. Oliver, surprisingly, pours a spoonful of honey into his mug, stirring it into the warm drink.

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything, obviously,” she tries again after a moment of comfortable silence. It’s a rarity for her, the itch to fill silences with inane chatter somehow lessened in Oliver’s company. “It’s just that you’re the only person in this town I feel like I can trust, for some reason. So, I’d just like to get to know you a little better.”

 

He’s quiet for a moment, his eyes on the movement of the water in his mug as he continues to stir it with his spoon.

 

“Where did you grow up, Felicity?” He asks finally, looking up at her. The question surprises her, but she supposes she can give a little if she’s hoping to get a little… Ugh, thank God she didn’t say that out loud.

 

“Las Vegas,” she says, familiar with the way his eyes widen just slightly in unconcealed surprise. She smirks down at her own drink. “My mom was a cocktail waitress and my dad was… whatever he was. She raised me by herself from when I was seven until I left for college.”

 

“That must have been difficult,” he comments quietly, tilting his head to the side as he listens to her.

 

“Yeah, I mean, she did the best she could,” Felicity shrugs, hoping to keep from getting too far into it. As much as she’d like Oliver to share, her relationship with her mother is still recovering from years of miscommunication and misplaced resentment. 

 

“I meant for you,” he corrects and she looks up from her mug to meet his eyes. She lets out a small laugh, surprised at the comment and shakes her head.

 

“So, you and Thea,” she redirects and Oliver drinks from his mug, stalling. She rolls her eyes at him. “I know I’m a chronic over-sharer, but come on. I’m just asking about your sister, not whatever tragic backstory you’re clearly trying to keep from me.”

 

He lets out one of those startled chuckles at her assessment of him and she realizes she’s becoming incredibly fond of making him laugh.

 

“Thea’s a lot younger than I am,” he starts after a quiet moment and Felicity leans forward a touch, ready to listen. “Which means she was a lot younger than I was when our father died. When I left, she was only twelve and for a while, she felt like I left her alone. We’ve gotten a lot closer since I got back, but I don’t think she’s ever fully forgiven me for leaving. I think she’s just waiting for me to do it again.”

 

Felicity sucks in a sharp breath, tension tightening her shoulders and making her sit up straight. She wraps her fingers around the porcelain mug in front of her and the heat from her drink stings her skin. It grounds her. She’s feels a sudden kinship with Thea, this woman she barely knows. Another lonely girl left behind.

 

“When my dad left, he didn’t say anything,” she admits quietly, flashing a smile she knows is false because it’s just what she does. “He was just there one day when I went to bed and gone by the time I woke up.  _ Poof _ . When someone leaves like that, it’s hard not to feel like it’s your fault. Like you weren’t worth sticking around for.”

 

“Seems like it was his loss,” Oliver says gently, pulling a watery laugh from her. She tilts her head at him, chewing on the corner of her lip.

 

“Thea’s fears are her own,” she continues. “The best you can do is just keep proving to her that you aren’t going anywhere.”

 

He nods, considering her words as their table lapses into silence. Felicity sips from her mug, letting the quiet din of the diner around her settle over her. It’s not terribly busy, but most of the booths are full which seems surprising for this early in the morning.

 

It startles her when Oliver speaks again.

 

“Have you heard from your dad since?” He asks and she looks back over at him. She adjusts in her chair, trying to press down the same discomfort this topic always brings about. It’s been almost two decades since she woke up that morning and her mother told her that Noah had left. Still, that scared little seven-year-old rears her head and it unsettles something inside of her.

 

“Uh, no,” she gets out, as steadily as she can. “No, my mom said he was some sort of cyber criminal. I’m not supposed to, but I looked up his file one time in the FBI’s system. I don’t even know if I’d want him to come back.”

 

“My dad wasn’t a great person,” he admits quietly and Felicity leans forward a touch. His eyes are focused on the mug in front of him, watching the steam roll up from the tea. “I didn’t learn about a lot of it until after he died. He did a lot of things that… I don’t think he meant to hurt people. I think he was just selfish.”

 

Impulsively, she reaches forward. Her hand falls over his on the table and she wraps her fingers around his, squeezing gently. It prompts him to look up at her instead, startled by the touch. He blinks at her and takes a breath before he continues.

 

“Still,” he continues. “I would give almost anything for just the chance to ask him everything I never got to.”

 

Felicity bites down on her lip and let’s his words settle over her. There are things she has wanted to ask Noah Kuttler over the years. Questions that have plagued her throughout her life. But every time she’s entertained the idea – the fantasy – of getting to ask them, she’s had to ask herself an even more important question.

 

Would the answers change anything?

 

Their waitress appears with a tray of plates, setting Felicity’s crêpes in front of her first. Oliver clears his throat and slips his hand out from underneath hers as the waitress sets a side of toast next to Felicity’s plate. She feels the moment break, but it’s probably for the best.

 

She may overshare and chatter on about anything under the sun, but she can’t remember the last time she’d been so open with someone about her father. She wonders if Oliver is thinking the same thing. She hopes he isn’t regretting letting her see a little more of him. Does she regret letting him see that part of her?

 

The silence they find themselves in as they eat doesn’t have the same comfort as earlier. Felicity is having a hard time getting bites of her food to go down. Oliver was right. The crêpes are amazing.

 

\---

 

The waitress drops the bill off once it’s clear they don’t intend to order anything else. Oliver reaches for his wallet before Felicity can say anything, but she’s buzzing a little from the lack of sleep and surplus of sugar from the food and her hot chocolate. She reaches over and slaps her hand over his before he can even produce anything from within the wallet.

 

He stares at her with wide eyes and she retracts her hand.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” she apologizes hastily, snagging her own large black purse and digging around within for her wallet. “But I’ve got this.”

 

“No, Felicity,” he tries to argue and she rolls her eyes, ignoring him in favor of locating her wallet. “I suggested the place so I should-”

 

“Oliver, no offense, but shut up,” she says, pulling the black leather wallet out and holding it up triumphantly. He blinks at her and she can tell her demeanor has startled him. She laughs a little at his shock. “You paid for drinks and I didn’t miss that no one asked me to pay them back for Chinese  _ or  _ the Italian last night. Besides, I have an expense card meant for exactly this.”

 

She pulls the Bureau issued debit card from within and waves it at him, fanning herself with it. It’s nothing spectacular – it is a government card – but it’s a silver colored plastic and catches the light from overhead. Oliver stares at her for a moment longer before his face turns playful. Felicity’s stomach flips.

 

“The FBI gave you a whole debit card just for crêpes?” He asks, leaning forward just a bit and smirking at her. She meets the movement with a mirror of her own, sliding the card onto the small tray holding their bill. There are two red and white peppermints sitting on top of the paper and she takes one.

 

“For essentials,” she corrects, the plastic film crinkling noisily as she releases the mint from it. She raises an eyebrow at Oliver as she pops the candy into her mouth. “Food is an essential.”

 

He shakes his head at her, amused but no longer protesting now that it’s clear breakfast will be paid for on the Bureau’s dime, not her own. It’s a cute, chivalrous thing for him to try to do, keep her from having to pay. But, unnecessary, ultimately. She knows how little local police make in salary and even her meager federal employee wage is better than that.

 

It’s a habit she would need to break him of if…

 

She lets that train of thought end there. There is no ‘if’ between them, not one she can allow herself to entertain. They had been too close to turning that ‘if’ into a ‘what now’ yesterday, standing too close together in Veronica Sparks’ closet. If they hadn’t been distracted by the would-be burglar, she’s not sure what would have happened. Felicity knows she hadn’t imagined the way he’d been looking at her, holding his breath, daring one of them to move.

 

They’re working on borrowed time. No matter how strong and unexplainable her interest in him is, it would be stupid to try and pursue something. Not just stupid, potentially dangerous if they become distracted. For their safeties, for the next target of this killer. Dangerous for other reasons, too. She thinks of the way a tryst with a local cop could hurt her career.  _ A career you never planned for anyway _ , a wicked voice in her mind reminds her. The FBI had hardly been her dream.

 

Another danger comes to mind. Sinister and cunning, but so far quiet. The snake in the grass, waiting for the moment to strike. Felicity doubts very much that Ruvé Adams wouldn’t know the minute something shifted between Oliver and herself. What’s more, she doubts it wouldn’t change something in whatever arrangement she’s sold her soul to the mayor for.

 

When she balls the wrapper up and tosses it back onto the tray, Oliver watches the movement. His eyes meet hers again and there’s too much there to decipher. Softness, mostly. Something in the way he looks at her turns her insides warm, sets her skin ablaze. Like she could melt under him if she wanted to.

 

They’re standing at the edge of a precipice. She can feel it, the open air beneath her toes. All it would take is one strong gust of wind to tumble them over the side, but then what? Once they fall, where do they land? She can’t see the bottom and that makes her nervous, makes her downright terrified. She’s always been afraid of heights.

 

“Oliver, I…,” she starts, so quiet he may not even hear her. His eyes catch on something behind her, any playfulness from the previous encounter melting away. It’s probably for the best. Felicity hadn’t even been sure what she intended to say.

 

“Gonna have to find a new diner,” he grumbles lowly, instead. It’s accompanied by a distinct ticking of the muscle in his cheek before he schools his features. Felicity frowns, turning to find what’s caused the trouble.

 

“Oh, look at you two,” Adrian Chase greets, an easy smile gracing his features. It’s beautiful on him, distracting. Felicity imagines that’s the idea as his gaze focuses in on her. “Early risers.”

 

She’s never been easily distracted by shiny things.

 

“We were grabbing breakfast before heading to meet with our latest victims’ therapist,” she offers in way of a vague explanation. “Funny running into you here. We’re pretty far from the D.A.’s office, aren’t we?”

 

“Oh, I know, it’s inconvenient, but what can I say?” Adrian says, shrugging and giving a small laugh. There’s a newspaper tucked beneath his arm, pinned between his elbow and his ribcage. “They have the best crêpes in town.”

 

Felicity thinks Oliver’s jaw is going to break from how tightly he’s got it clenched. Before either of them can say anything, Adrian is continuing. His easy smile melts into a concerned pinch of the brow, a downturn of the mouth. It’s impressive, if it’s ingenuine, because Felicity really can’t tell.

 

“I heard about Ms. Sparks,” he says, lowering his voice, aware of the buzzing restaurant around them. “A terrible thing, but do you think it’s connected? I was under the impression it was an overdose.”

 

Felicity glances over at Oliver and his eyes are already on her. He doesn’t do much in the way of signalling, but he doesn’t need to. She knows they’re on the same page where Adrian Chase is concerned. Oliver may have his own unexplained reasons for disliking the man, but Felicity still knows better than to trust him.

 

“I thought it seemed stupid to leave any stone unturned,” she says bluntly, staring back up at Adrian. She fights the urge to stand from her chair, give some sort of evenness to their height. Instead, she tries to remain neutral.

 

“It’s always good to be thorough,” Adrian agrees, nodding at her. Their waitress slips past him with a soft apology, collecting the tray with Felicity’s debit card on it and gently setting the untouched mint on the table top. Adrian follows her movement as she passes back by him and towards the kitchen.

 

“Well, listen, I’m sure we’ve got our best people working on it,” he says, looking between them both. He pulls the newspaper folded and pinned to his side by his bicep from it’s trapped spot. Playfully, he taps Felicity on the shoulder with it. “But, please, call me if you need anything. We’re here to help you, Agent Smoak.”

 

As he turns to head away from them, calling a jovial goodbye, Felicity lets his words linger over her. She meets Oliver’s gaze again and knows they’re thinking the same thing. 

 

Why does an offer for help from Adrian Chase sound so oddly like a threat?

 

\---

 

“Am I sleep deprived,” Felicity asks, bouncing on her toes outside of the restaurant. They’ve halted at the corner, out of view from the front windows. “Or was that really weird?”

 

“Both,” Oliver grumbles, watching the car they’re waiting on pass before leading her across the street to his own car. Felicity tips her head and follows after him because… fair. She waits until they’re situated in his car before she speaks again.

 

“But, seriously, that felt… bad,” she says, clicking her seat belt into the buckle and letting out a short groan. Oliver doesn’t start the car just yet. “I don’t know. Do you think he knows we’re purposely keeping some details between the two of us?”

 

He seems to contemplate it for a moment.

 

“I think the mayor is beginning to realize she hasn’t been getting anything valuable out of you,” he suggests, finally sliding the key into the ignition and twisting. The engine turns over smoothly and the car vibrates beneath them as it idles. “And she sent her lapdog to send a message.”

 

“Well, if the plan was to set me on edge, it’s working,” she sighs, chewing on her lower lip. Oliver turns suddenly in his seat, his own seat belt still left unbuckled by his door.

 

“Felicity, I told you, messing with the mayor is dangerous,” he says, a sudden fire in his eyes as he stares her down. The desperate concern in his gaze unseats her more than any encounter with Adrian Chase ever could. “You need to–”

 

“Whatever stupid, protective thing you’re about to say, don’t,” she interjects, sending him a look that has him leaning back in his seat with an annoyed huff. “I know I don’t seem like it, but I’m a lot stronger than I look. And I’ve dealt with worse than Ruv é Adams or Adrian Chase.”

 

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “But you’re going to have to give her something soon. Something to sate her appetite before she gets impatient.”

 

“Like, what, Oliver?” Felicity asks, throwing her hands out, palms up towards the roof of the car. “In between searching for a murderer, I haven’t exactly had time to be playing Harriet the Hostage Spy.”

 

He squeezes his eyes shut and she immediately knows she’s not going to like whatever he says next.

 

“I have some ideas on what you could tell her,” he admits, his eyes opening back up to meet hers and Felicity frowns.

 

“Why do I get the feeling I’m not going to like this?” She asks, the churning in her gut enough to get her attention. Oliver’s phone begins to trill from his pocket before he can answer. The looks he sends her as he digs it out is enough of one.

 

He doesn’t particularly like it either.

 

“Dr. Schwartz,” he greets as he answers the phone. A little of his agitation from their conversation comes through, making him growl into the receiver. Felicity imagines that might not be unusual to the M.E. “Thanks for calling me back so quickly. Were you able to look into what I asked?”

 

Felicity twists uncomfortably in her seat, trying to face him even as the seat belt presses uncomfortably into her ribcage. For his part, Oliver just listens to Dr. Schwartz on the other end of the line. He hums at one point, nodding a little jerkily.

 

“No, it’s alright,” he says, low enough to keep the agitation she can see in his form from his voice. It’s a feat for him, she thinks, hiding his emotions. Or maybe he thinks he’s spectacular at it. “It’s been a rough week all around, I’m just glad we caught it.” He pauses. “Thanks again. Let me know if you find anything else.”

 

“Caught what?” Felicity presses before he’s even ended the call. He tucks the phone away and rights in his seat, pulling the seat belt around him and buckling it in.

 

“Veronica’s track marks,” he explains and she nods because, well, they’d already been shown her track marks. A sign of a repeat drug user. It why they assumed she’d relapsed recently, leading to the deadly overdose outside of Vertigo. “They weren’t fresh. They were scars.”

 

“What?” Felicity asks, surprised by the news. They’d all stared at the marks, but it isn’t their job to diagnose old and new wounds. Oliver throws the car into drive and pulls from the parking spot on the street. “How did Schwartz miss that?”

 

“She’s sleep deprived and overworked,” he offers.

 

“Line forms behind me,” she mutters, frowning to herself. “Are you sure it’s just that?”

 

“I’m not ready to assume she’s in anyone’s pocket, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says, not defensively. Just answering the question he knows she’s asking. “Schwartz has never struck me as the type. She does her job, keeps her head down. Tries not to take the horrors home with her.” He pauses, glancing over at her. “But I don’t trust anyone blindly, either.”

 

She nods in agreement. The car quiets for a long moment, only the hum of the engine as they move smoothly along the streets fills it. They head towards the law offices where Sparks worked and Felicity figures Oliver must know the area, not needing any directions.

 

Something needles at her and she understands why Oliver had been so urgent to hear back from Schwartz.

 

“We’ve been working on the assumption that Veronica Sparks relapsed, leading to her death,” she thinks aloud, staring unseeingly at the taillights of the car ahead of them. “But, if the track marks are old…”

 

Oliver finishes for her.

 

“Then, what if she didn’t overdose?”

 

\---

 

The receptionist at the law firm largely ignores them until Oliver, impatiently, flashes his badge at him. Suddenly, he’s scrambling to end what was clearly a personal call and sitting up straight to finally greet them.

 

“Detectives, um,” he says, clearing his throat uncomfortably. Felicity doesn’t bother correcting him as he sweats under Oliver’s dark look. “What can I do for you?”

 

The offices Veronica worked at are full of corporate lawyers. They probably aren’t accustomed to police visits. They don’t defend lower-class criminals, they protect companies and executives. Felicity imagines most of their work is making sure things never see a courtroom.

 

“We need to talk to someone about Veronica Sparks,” Oliver offers in way of explanation. “Do you know who her supervisor is?”

 

“Veronica?” The guy questions with a frown. Felicity can see the wheels turning in his mind. “She’s not here today…, but I can call up to Ms. de la Vega. Just a second.”

 

She doesn’t miss the way Oliver’s shoulders tense beneath his leather jacket and her focus narrows in on him as he bites out a thanks to the receptionist and turns away. She steps to follow after him while the man at the desk picks up the office phone and dials in an extension.

 

“You know her?” Felicity asks quietly, already knowing the answer.

 

“I used to,” he says and his body language, along with the slightly desperate look he shoots her, keeps her from pressing for more. 

 

It feels like every time she learns one of Oliver’s secrets, three more crop up to take its place. It unsettles her, the realization that she won’t have the time to learn all of them. She’ll never really know Oliver Queen.

 

It doesn’t take long for someone to come meet them in the lobby. Ms. de la Vega is a tall, dark skinned woman who moves across the welcoming area in sky high heels and a deep blue dress that falls below her knees. She walks like someone in charge as she meets them, but her focus is firmly on Oliver and a frown tugs at her lips.

 

“Oliver,” she greets, neutrally, as she reaches them. She folds her arms over her stomach and surveys Felicity with wary curiosity. “Eric said a couple of detectives were down here asking about Veronica. She didn’t show up for work the past two days, which isn’t like her without a call ahead. Is she alright?”

 

“This is Felicity Smoak,” Oliver says instead of answering her question. “She’s with the FBI and she’s been consulting with the department on a few cases.”

 

“Joanna de la Vega,” the woman introduces herself, holding her hand out to Felicity. She shakes it, but notes that Joanna only looks more wary of her than she had before. “Is Veronica in some kind of federal trouble?”

 

“You might want to sit down, Joanna,” Oliver suggests. It only makes her tighten her stance, shifting her weight between her legs and jutting a hip out. He lets out a short, frustrated sigh, adjusting his tone before he continues, “We found Veronica’s body yesterday morning in the Glades.”

 

Joanna blinks, her whole face going slack with shock for a moment and Felicity resists the urge to pinch Oliver in the arm. There was probably a gentler way to do that. Though, she’s having trouble thinking of one. The muscles in Joanna’s brow pull, creating a crimp in her brow as she lifts one of her hands to cover her mouth. Still, she remains standing.

 

“Oh, my God,” she breathes out, blinking a few times as the news settles in. “What happened?”

 

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” Felicity offers gently. “Could we speak somewhere a bit more private?”

 

Joanna offers a jerky nod, her manicured fingers still pressed to her mouth. She turns on her foot and leads them back through the lobby, past where Eric is attempting to eavesdrop, and into a hallway. The hallway branches into a line of meeting and conference rooms. Joanna leads them past each one, glass walls giving a look into the everyday goings on of the office.

 

She stops them outside of a smaller room with more intimate, comfortable seating and leads them inside. She lowers herself gently onto a plush chair, leaving Felicity and Oliver to crowd themselves onto the firm loveseat across from her.

 

“Are you sure it was Veronica?” Joanna asks, once they’ve settled in and she’s found her voice again. Oliver nods gently.

 

“We’re sure,” he says. “We think she may have overdosed.”

 

“What?” Joanna frowns. “No. No, Veronica had her demons, but she was really trying. I can’t imagine her backsliding like that without calling someone first – me or one of her friends here. I know she was close with one of her neighbors.”

 

“We talked with her neighbor,” Felicity says. “She seemed surprised as well.”

 

Joanna’s gaze narrows and something flashes in her eyes. A connection happening somewhere as she stares between the two of them. She’s a lawyer, one who seems to be some level of in charge around here, so it shouldn’t surprise them that she’s sharp as well.

 

“The police don’t usually investigate overdoses of junkies,” she considers, her focus turning to Oliver. Maybe she thinks she can get more from him, due to whatever history they may have. “Don’t tell me this is just a courtesy call.”

 

Oliver holds her stare for a moment before glancing over to meet Felicity’s gaze. Then, he looks back to Joanna and gives in.

 

“We’re not entirely convinced that Veronica overdosed,” he admits. “Which is why we’re looking for any sign that may give us an idea of where her head was at before she died.”

 

“Right,” Joanna breathes. “Well, Veronica was a hard worker. She came in on day one ready to prove herself and hasn’t stopped doing that. She wants–  _ wanted _ to be a lawyer and I think she needed to prove to herself that she could be one.”

 

“How had she been lately?” Felicity presses, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Any changes to her demeanor or her actions that you can recall?”

 

“No,” Joanna sighs, shaking her head. She stops, thinking further for a moment. “She was working on some kind of secret project, but it wasn’t for the firm. I don’t know what it was, I assumed it was personal. I just know it was making her busy and,” she falters for a second, considering her words carefully, “A little paranoid.”

 

“Paranoid?” Oliver echoes.

 

“Yeah, you know, closing her laptop or programs when someone came into her work area,” Joanna explains. “Getting really weird when people asked about what she was working on. I thought maybe she was just working on something special, looking for a promotion.”

 

“You weren’t worried about her, then?” Felicity presses. She doesn’t mean the question to come off as an accusation, though ignoring the behavior is odd. If Joanna and Veronica were just work friends, she may not have felt it was her place to press.

 

“I’ve seen addicts relapse first hand,” Joanna says, her gaze cutting to Oliver for a half second before focusing back on Felicity. She deliberately doesn’t look at Oliver again. “This wasn’t it. Veronica was starting the process to begin law school, she’d increased her therapy sessions to cope with the stress of it. She was recovering, but she knew there was no easy fix. All she could do was take each day one step at a time.”

 

Felicity frowns, catching on something Joanna had said. Everything she had said sounds like usual behavior for a recovering addict. Veronica seemed like she was taking real steps to make sure she stayed on the recovering side of that spectrum.

 

“How do you know she had increased her therapy appointments?” She asks and Joanna gives a small shrug.

 

“She had to leave work early any time she met with her therapist, which meant she needed to request the permission through the proper channels,” she explains. “Namely me, as her supervisor. No one here gave her any trouble for it, and she usually worked on a weekend day to make up the time, but it’s just policy. Everyone here wanted to see Veronica succeed.”

 

“So, she didn’t have any problems with anyone here?” Oliver presses.

 

“She was a hard worker and an overachiever,” Joanna says. “Which made her a favorite to work with for a lot of the lawyers here and a pain for a lot of the other paralegals. But outside of typical workplace pettiness, no one I can think of.”

 

She pauses for a moment, her focus returning to Oliver after staring instead at the space between him and Felicity.

 

“If you’re asking if anyone here would have wanted to hurt Veronica,” she says. “I assure you, that wasn’t the case.”

 

\---

 

“So,” Felicity broaches carefully as she swipes across the screen of her tablet, avoiding Oliver’s gaze as he maneuvers the car out of the parking lot of the law firm. “You want to tell me what that was about?”

 

“Not particularly,” he grumbles, which is more or less as she had expected. So, she’s surprised when he presses on after a moment. “Joanna and I knew each other a long time ago. I knew she was a lawyer in the city, but I didn’t realize she worked there.”

 

“Clearly,” Felicity offers quietly, looking up from her tablet. She needs to check something in the data she pulled from Veronica’s laptops, but it can wait a moment. “Did you two date or something? It seemed pretty tense in there and that was  _ before  _ we told her her friend had just died.”

 

“No, we didn’t date,” he says, a little huff to his voice as if he resents the suggestion. “Contrary to popular belief, I haven’t dated every woman in this city.”

 

“The fact that you even have to say ‘contrary to popular belief’ is troubling,” she comments lightly, earning a begrudging smirk from him. “So, what happened, then?”

 

“It was back in high school,” he explains. “We ran in the same circles, is all. Right around the time my dad died, I was dating Joanna’s best friend.” He cuts an uneasy glance over at her, debating whether to tell her the rest. The corner of her mouth ticks up, trying to reassure him and he looks back to the road as he continues, “Captain Lance’s daughter. It ended… badly.”

 

“You don’t have to tell me,” she says quietly, before he can go into more detail. She’s not even sure he’s going to. She’s certainly spent days trying to uncover the pieces of Oliver Queen, but she’s also beginning to realize something. “I don’t care about what kind of person you used to be. I’m more interested in finding out who you are, now.”

 

She doesn’t mean it quite the way it sounds. Or maybe she does. Even she is beginning to lose track of what she is and isn’t supposed to feel for him. She knows it’s true though. As much as she wants to crack him open and see all the little things he’s trying to keep from her, from everyone, maybe even from himself – would it even make a difference?

 

As they pull up to a red light and the car settles onto its brakes, Oliver looks over at her. Studying her with that soft gaze for a moment. Something like surprise crosses his features at her sincerity. Felicity wonders how accustomed Oliver is to being judged by his past.

 

“I’ll tell you,” he says quietly as the light changes ahead of them and he releases the brake. “One day.”

 

It’s a bit hopeful for them, considering they’re running on borrowed time, but it sounds like he means it.

 

The car falls into silence as Felicity lets the topic die. The only noise coming from Oliver’s phone on the dashboard as the soothing voice from his GPS guides him through the city. Felicity focuses her attention back on the tablet in her hands, searching for the calendar she’d downloaded off of Veronica’s computer.

 

“What are you looking for?” Oliver asks eventually, just as she finally locates the file and opens it. It takes a moment for Veronica’s calendar to sync into the app on her tablet.

 

“Something Joanna said reminded me of something,” she explains, swiping through the months on Veronica’s calendar. “She mentioned Veronica had increased her therapy visits.”

 

“Yeah, she thought it was to handle the stress of applying to law school,” he nods.

 

“Except, from her emails, Veronica started applying to law schools seven months ago,” Felicity presses on, finally landing on the month she’d been looking for. “But she started doubling down on her therapy sessions only two months ago.”

 

“So, maybe it was the stress of waiting to hear back,” he shrugs. “When I applied to colleges, it only took a few months for me to hear back. Maybe she was starting to worry she hadn’t gotten in.”

 

“Maybe,” she considers slowly, staring at the appointment on the calendar in front of her. She looks over at Oliver just as the voice on the dash informs them they’ve arrived at the offices. “That doesn’t really explain why she would have started seeing a whole different therapist, though.”

 

“She could have had a problem with her previous therapist,” he says, pulling into a parking spot in the lot. “Or just needed to speak to someone new.”

 

“That’s the thing, though,” she insists, unbuckling her seat belt and turning in her seat to face him better. She twists her tablet around to show him the calendar. “She didn’t stop seeing her original therapist at their normal times. She just started seeing someone else on a second day.”

 

She twists the tablet back around and swipes around a few times, pulling up the calendar from Veronica’s phone instead.

 

“And she only ever listed the second appointments on her calendar saved to her secret laptop,” she presses on, twisting the tablet again so he can see the new calendar. “Her phone calendar is totally absent of those appointments, but they log her regular appointments.”

 

Oliver’s face pinches as he stares at the tablet screen in front of his face. With gentle hands, he takes it from her and holds it over the steering wheel, tapping at the appointment on the calendar.

 

“So, then,” Felicity concludes. “The questions becomes…”

 

Oliver finishes for her, “Why was she hiding the second therapy appointments?”

 

She nods eagerly, her ponytail bouncing around behind her head, and he hands her the tablet back. She takes it from him, locking it and stuffing it back into her large purse. Oliver unbuckles his own seatbelt, letting it retract into the door before cutting off the engine.

 

“Let’s go ask,” he suggests, pushing his door open. Felicity scrambles to follow after him, her discovery and the multitude of questions she has making her clumsy as she follows him across the blacktop of the parking lot.

 

\---

 

It takes longer to meet with Dr. Sylvia Mendez than it had to get someone from the law firm to speak with them. Oliver’s badge only seems to mildly interest the woman behind the plate of slidable glass. Felicity’s badge seems to light the appropriate fire under her, a fact which earns her a smirk from Oliver as the woman rushes to get in touch with the doctor.

 

“Agent,” he says, twisting to lean back against the desk and echoing the sentiment of the startled receptionist before she’d run off to fetch the doctor. Felicity rolls her eyes at him, fighting the smile pulling at her lips.

 

“Shut up,” she says, poking him in the chest and earning a playful look of hurt from him.

 

The receptionist comes back to lead them back into the offices beyond her desk. They pass a few closed doors, but it’s early still and most of the doors are open with the therapists within milling around, getting ready for the day.

 

Felicity nearly runs into one of them as he comes rushing out of his office, talking quietly into his cellphone and not paying attention. He startles after nearly smacking into her, his free hand falling instinctively to her bicep to steady her. He’s tall and thin with pale skin and light brown hair swept up in a styled manner. It’s beginning to droop against his forehead with his haste.

 

“So sorry,” he mumbles, offering her an apologetic smile as she steps around him. Oliver’s hand at her hip guides her away from the near incident. She hears the man scrambling with his keys as he locks his office door behind him.

 

Dr. Mendez waits for them in her own office, settled into a chair where she’s scribbling notes into a portfolio. She dismisses the receptionist as Oliver and Felicity once again find themselves settled next to each other on a plush sofa. The office is quiet but for the ticking of a watch – Felicity listens hard for a moment trying to figure out if Oliver wears an analog watch beneath his sleeve or if it’s the doctor’s.

 

Oliver mostly directs the conversation, once introductions have been made, asking the same questions they’d asked of the Sparkses and Joanna de la Vega. Dr. Mendez answers mostly the same way, highlighting things she’d made note of in her conversations with Veronica.

 

The woman gives a vibe of familiarity with the process and, heartbreakingly, Felicity wonders how many of her patients she’s gone through it with. It’s hardly unheard of for a recovering drug addict to end up on the wrong side of a gun or a needle.

 

Frustration begins to settle in as Felicity realizes that, other than more insight into Veronica’s mental health, nothing about this conversation is new. It feels a bit like running in circles and hoping you’ll pass by something you hadn’t seen before. If Oliver is sharing her concerns, he doesn’t show it.

 

“Dr. Mendez,” she says, cutting Oliver off on accident. He shoots her a surprised look, but says nothing. “I’m sure you know the warning signs. You know what a flight risk looks like, you’ve dealt with lost causes. Did Veronica tick any boxes that would make you worry she was going to relapse like this?”

 

Dr. Mendez seems surprised and Felicity figures she could have softened the question. But she’s growing tired and anxious. The answers she’s looking for feel blurry and out of focus – but they’re  _ there _ . She just needs to find the proper lens to see them through.

 

“No, Agent Smoak,” Dr. Mendez answers after a few beats of silence. “No, she didn’t.”

 

“Were there any new stressors in her life?” She presses. “She’d recently begun doubling up on her therapy appointments. Did something cause that?”

 

Despite the grief of the situation, Dr. Mendez has remained calm and collected throughout the conversation. Barely relaying any sort of emotion towards the loss of her patient. At this, she frowns.

 

“Veronica wasn’t meeting with me anymore than usual,” she argues.

 

“No, her calendar had her scheduled to meet with a Dr. Webb in between your appointments,” Felicity explains, meeting the woman’s frown with one of her own. “Is that unusual?”

 

“Darren?” Dr. Mendez questions, more to herself than to them. “No, we don’t share patients here. If there’s a problem and a patient needs to begin seeing a different doctor, there’s a protocol for it. Veronica hadn’t requested any sort of change.”

 

“Is there a Dr. Webb here?” Oliver asks, catching on the recognition at the name.

 

Dr. Mendez hesitates for a moment before nodding.

 

“Yes,” she says. “Dr. Darren Webb. His office is down the hall, but I assure you if Veronica had tried to schedule with him, our computer system wouldn’t have even allowed it. It keeps track of each patient and the doctor they’ve been working with and won’t allow for crossovers.”

 

Oliver looks over at Felicity and she turns to meet him, raising her eyebrows at the doctor’s words. When he stands from the couch, she follows suit. It earns them a surprised look from Dr. Mendez.

 

“We’re going to need to speak with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on uploads;
> 
> I wish I had some great explanation for why the time between chapters is so long. The truth is, while I had really hoped to be finished with this and starting my next project way before now, the will to write has lessened. Not because I love this story any less or have lost sight of where it's going! Just because I haven't been terribly invested in the fandom lately.
> 
> That said, I'm going to continue to write this story and put up chapters I'm happy with and hopefully that you will be happy with, too!! I just can't guarantee that upload times are going to get any shorter in the near future. I'm very sorry, I know it's hard to keep up with stories that don't upload often, but I refuse to let myself abandon this story. I'm just also giving myself the room to breathe and write it at a pace that works for me and won't make me rush the chapters and put out things that are less than what I want them to be.


	13. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While more questions about Veronica continue to pile up, Oliver encourages Felicity to face the mayor while he faces down some of his own demons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Less than a month, y'all! Woo!!
> 
> Previously: Oliver & Felicity had a heart-to-heart about their families before an unsettling encounter with D.A. Chase. They began to learn more about Veronica -- which just meant more questions about the woman. Most pressingly, why was she seeing a second therapist within the same office building?

“Melody Knight?” Felicity echoes as Dr. Webb holds out the file on the woman, her name scrawled across the top in messy handwriting. The doctor, the same man Felicity had run into before they’d met with Dr. Mendez, sets the file down on the table between himself and Felicity and Oliver.

 

“Yes,” Dr. Webb nods. “At least, that’s how she registered for our appointments. I had no idea she may have been using a fake name. I didn’t think someone could even do that here.”

 

Oliver glances towards Dr. Mendez who hovers near the door, listening to the conversation. She strikes him as a sharp woman and he considers that it’s her job to read people – their words, their expressions, the beats before they decide to tell the truth or something else. Her own expression gives nothing.

 

“We’ll need to figure out how she’d managed to do so,” Dr. Mendez says.

 

“And why,” Felicity adds and Oliver looks back around at her. She’s frowning down at the file on the table, a faraway look to her, and he can tell she’s barely realized she’s spoken aloud. It’s something he’s noticed about her over the past few days. Her mind works so fast and it pulls her from the moment sometimes, takes her somewhere else entirely as she tries to knit together the answers to the mysteries in front of her.

 

He’d be hard pressed to say it doesn’t fascinate him.

 

“Do you think that’s relevant?” Dr. Webb asks and Felicity’s gaze shoots up to him, sharp and frustrated. Before she can answer, he quickly adds, “I mean, relevant to her death.”

 

“It could be,” Oliver admits, before Felicity can. He’s been watching the frustration build in her today. Every time they hit a wall, he thinks she takes it as a personal slight against herself. She’s eager to answer all the questions burning in her mind. Eager to solve this.

 

He wonders if it means she’s eager to leave him and his city behind. Would he blame her if she were?

 

“Veronica’s death itself is odd,” he continues, trying to make himself focus. Lack of sleep has his mind whirring more than usual. “If she did overdose, there were no red flags that we’ve found to give us reason to believe she would have relapsed. It’s possible, if she was going by an alias, there’s a whole other side of her we’re missing.”

 

Dr. Webb seems to contemplate this from across the table, his brow knitting together.

 

“Sharing patient details is always murky water and this is an especially strange case,” he begins slowly, working the thoughts over in his mind before he says them. His gaze cuts across the room to where Dr. Mendez stands. “But if Dr. Mendez is willing to share her notes on Veronica, I’m happy to share mine on Melody.”

 

“That would be very helpful,” Oliver nods.

 

“We’ll have them packaged up and messengered over to the police station,” Dr. Mendez agrees. “As soon as you leave we will get the process started.”

 

“How did Veronica manage to fly under the radar as Melody?” Felicity asks, somewhat abruptly, and Oliver knows her mind is working at twice the pace of anyone else in the room. “She was a regular. Wouldn't she have been recognized?”

 

Dr. Mendez seems to consider the question for a moment, before twisting to pull the door to Dr. Webb’s office open and call out into the hallway for the receptionist. It takes her a few minutes before she joins them and the room sits quietly. Oliver catches Felicity’s eye as they wait, finding the same mix of emotions there that he feels in himself.

 

“This is very sensitive,” Dr. Mendez says when the woman joins them, pulling the door to the office closed behind her. The two doctors explain the situation for her, staring expectantly at her as they finish. Felicity’s question hangs in the room like an accusation and Oliver momentarily feels bad for the woman.

 

“What days were you seeing Melody, Dr. Webb?” The receptionist asks, her shoulders squared as she faces him. Oliver can tell she doesn’t intend to go down with whatever kind of security breach this may be.

 

Dr. Webb frowns but he moves for his appointment book, flipping through the pages and finding the dates he was seeing Veronica under her alias.

 

“Thursday afternoons on alternating weeks,” he says finally and the woman gives a toss of her head, directing her attention to Dr. Mendez and away from Dr. Webb.

 

“Veronica knew me,” she says. “She knew which days I work and which days the secondary staff works. She managed to slip by unnoticed because no one knew. If she had faked her documents, it might have been easy to get herself enrolled in the program and assigned to Dr. Webb.”

 

“Why you?” Oliver asks, his gaze cutting across to the doctor in question. Webb seems to startle a little with the attention.

 

“She may not have requested me specifically,” he says, giving a helpless shrug. “I really can’t say. Maybe she just needed to try talking to someone new.”

 

“You have a policy for a change of assignment,” Felicity reminds him. “Why go to all the trouble of pretending to be someone else?”

 

“Unfortunately,” Dr. Mendez sighs. “That may be a question only Veronica could have answered.”

 

\---

 

“Are we anywhere near the docks?” Felicity asks, surprising him. They’ve stopped at his car outside of the therapist’s offices and Felicity had leaned back against the trunk, staring up at the unimposing white brick building.

 

“No,” Oliver answers slowly, frowning. They’d left the station and headed further into downtown, away from the coast. If they’d kept going, they’d have hit mountains.

 

“So then that vague fishy smell must have been coming from in there,” she says and it takes him a minute to realize she’s joking. He turns to look at her, arms folded over her chest, keeping her coat closed against the wind as she leans back against the trunk of his car.

 

“You’re a weird person, Felicity,” he comments and she freezes, seeming to consider his summation of her, before giving a passive shrug and pushing up off of the car.

 

“Yeah,” she agrees, passing by him to round the car and get to the passenger’s side door. Oliver follows suit, straightening up and heading towards the door on the other side. Felicity waits for him, her door open, to call over the hood of the car, “But you can’t tell me that whole thing didn’t have your strangeness alarm going off.”

 

Oliver looks away from her, back up at the building that houses the offices. Settled up on the fifth floor, tucked away in a corner where the sun glints off of the reflective windows. He has to squint to look up at it. Maybe they’re telling the truth, but he thinks he feels eyes beyond those windows anyway. Looking down and wondering what’s stalled them, what the city detective and the FBI agent could be talking about in the parking lot.

 

“Yeah,” he admits, ducking down to slide into the car. Felicity follows, sliding into the leather seat and pulling the seat belt around her. It clicks into place as Oliver starts the car, the engine revving before it turns over and settles into a quiet hum.

 

“What do you think?” Felicity asks, looking over at him eagerly. He knows she’s asking not because she doesn’t know what to think herself, but perhaps instead she’s thinking too much. Too many avenues for her mind to take after the odd encounter and she’s asking him to be a road sign, confirm or deny whatever she’s thinking.

 

“I think Veronica had more going on than people in her life seemed to realize,” he says. “And clearly she knew how to keep a secret.”

 

“I need to go over the things from her laptop more thoroughly,” she sighs, already reaching down for her purse between her feet, her tablet nestled within. “We should have gone in there with as much information as we could. I feel like we got blindsided and who knows if they were telling the truth. God, I should have known better.”

 

“Hey, it’s on both of us, alright?” Oliver reminds her, reaching over to place his hand gently on her wrist. It stalls her where she’s hurriedly pulling up data on the small screen. “We’re exhausted and we’ve been working ourselves to the bone. I should have known better.”

 

“Okay, well,” Felicity huffs. “Neither of us beating ourselves up is going to get us anywhere. What’s our next move?”

 

“We’ll have to wait and see what Mendez and Webb send over with the courier,” he explains.

 

“Do you think they’ll send us everything?” She asks, chewing on the corner of her lip nervously.

 

“If they don’t, we might not be able to tell,” he admits, pulling his hand back to back the car out of the parking spot. “And if we can tell, we might not be able to prove it.”

 

“Great,” she sighs, slouching back against the seat. “Once we get back to the station, Alena and I will comb through the files on Veronica’s secret laptop.”

 

“I actually think you should set up a meeting with Adams first,” he suggests, not missing the way Felicity freezes next to him. The tension at the reminder of Adams’ interest and their run in with Chase that morning returns in full force. He swears he can feel it flowing off of her.

 

Or maybe he’s projecting his own concerns onto her. The encounter with Chase that morning had only served as a reminder that the D.A. wants something from her. Or something from Adams, which makes Felicity a means to an end for him. Either way, Oliver would rather get crucified for punching the city’s beloved District Attorney in the face than see him within ten feet of Felicity again.

 

It’s unavoidable, he knows, but the thought of sucker punching Chase in the jaw is a nice one regardless.

 

“And what exactly am I supposed to tell her?” She asks, frustration coloring her voice. “I’m not a spy, Oliver, and even if I were I don’t have anything to tell her. I’ve been a little busy trying to find a killer, so I haven’t exactly been keeping tabs on everyone at the department. I barely know anything about anyone!”

 

“Felicity, breathe,” he instructs, catching the way she runs out of breath and takes a sharp, panicked inhale. Stopped at a red light, he glances at her hands, tangled together in her lap, thinks of taking one of them in the hopes it would calm her.

 

The light changes and he keeps his hands to himself.

 

“There is something you can tell her,” he continues once he can tell she’s calmed down some. They need to get this conversation out before they reach the police station. He’s not keen on having it sitting in the parking lot.

 

“Which is?” She asks, hesitance shaking her voice a little. He knows she doesn’t want this, has felt backed into a corner by it. He wishes he’d told him sooner, wishes he’d pushed for information about her interactions with the mayor. She’d seemed shaken when she’d come back from that first meeting, but he’d been so set on keeping her at an arms length that he hadn’t pressed.

 

And she hadn’t trusted him enough, then. He hopes she does now.

 

“Some years ago,” he starts evasively. If Felicity catches it, she doesn’t press, too caught up in her own anxiety. He knows the exact date, but it’s not important. Not right now. “Detective Lance’s youngest daughter died in an accident.”

 

“Was this the one you were seeing?” She asks quietly, connecting their conversation from earlier. Oliver’s fingers tighten on the steering wheel.

 

“No,” he says. “But after she died, Lance started drinking. And then he didn’t stop. He was just a detective at the time, but the department forced him into a rehab program. It took, for a while, but I know he’s still drinking. I think most of the department knows.”

 

“Oliver, I can’t just…,” she argues, but he cuts her off.

 

“Felicity, Adams has her finger in every pie in this city, there’s no way she doesn’t already know about this,” he explains. “Lance’s problems with alcohol is city leadership’s worst kept secret. You won’t be doing any damage to him, but it may earn you some trust with Adams. Maybe enough to keep her off your back for a few days.”

 

“And what if Adams is a shark?” Felicity asks, cutting him with a look. “And I’ve given her the drop of blood that sends her into a frenzy?”

 

“I know it seems backwards,” he sighs, parking the car across the street from the police station, rather than pulling into the lot. He shuts off the engine and turns as best as he can with his seatbelt still connected to face her. “But I need you to trust me.”

 

She studies him for a moment, her eyes searching his. He feels suddenly uncomfortable under the scrutiny, out of his element. Like she may actually be able to see right down into the core of him. He wonders what she’d find. If it’d scare her.

 

“Okay,” she says finally, her voice steady and sure now that she’s made a decision. She gives him a firm nod. “I trust you.”

 

\---

 

Felicity takes Oliver’s car to the mayor’s office. She’d seemed surprised at how eagerly Adams had made time for her, but Oliver wasn’t. Adams wants Felicity under her thumb, she wants her trust and compliance. He’ll be damned if he’s going to watch Felicity get played much longer.

 

He heads into the police station with the intention of talking to Lance. For years, he’s avoided any confrontation with the man but he’s growing tired. Tired of the animosity, of the secrets. Tired of carrying all this weight around on his shoulders. Thea’s been lecturing him about it for years, but something about Felicity makes him finally want to take the steps towards moving forward.

 

It’s something he can’t examine right now, but thinks he wants to. Later.

 

They’ve all been running in place for years, letting the world move on around them while they stood stagnant. They may not be the same people they were a decade ago, but they’re all still stuck there. Refusing to move on, refusing to let go.

 

Oliver, for one, is tired of living in the past.

 

Lance has things to answer for that Oliver has been too afraid to ask. He tries to avoid poking bears, but if he need to get bitten to find the truth, so be it. He needs to know why Lance met with Gaynor before he died, what he knows about what Adams hopes to gain through Felicity, how ingrained the corruption and darkness in this city really is.

 

“Oliver,” someone hisses next to him and fingers wrap around his elbow. He glances over to find Dinah tugging gently on his arm and tilting her head towards the hallway.

 

“Can this wait?” He bites, looking back to Lance’s office. The door is open and he can see the Captain sitting at his desk within, talking into his phone with a file in his hands.

 

“It’s about John’s case,” she insists and it pulls Oliver’s attention back to her. He hasn’t had time to get back out to the hospital to visit his old friend, but with McKenna and Dinah working on his case, he’d felt confident that John is in good hands.

 

Nodding, he lets Dinah lead him out of the busy bullpen and into the mostly empty hallway. She waits, watching a straggler with careful eyes until he disappears around a corner and they’re left alone.

 

“Is John alright?” He presses, growing frustrated and impatient. He’s already on edge from the way the morning has gone and the thought of Felicity on her way to meet with the mayor. Dinah’s evasiveness isn’t helping.

 

“He’s stable and he’s being moved from Starling General into ARGUS protection,” she explains.

 

“At Lyla’s insistence, I assume,” he comments and Dinah nods in response. “But that’s not the reason you pulled me out here to talk about it.”

 

“McKenna and I were going over John’s timeline from the day he was shot,” she continues. “He says he was being followed for most of the day.”

 

“Yeah, he thought the guy was ex-military,” Oliver nods.

 

“Some of the places John led the guy had security cameras,” Dinah says. “It’s not the richest part of town, so the cameras aren’t great quality. We couldn’t get a clear face, but we were watching his pattern of surveillance.”

 

“Dinah, where are you going with this?” He snaps, his impatience getting the best of him. It earns him a look from her, but she glances around the hallway quickly.

 

“There was something familiar about the way this guy trailed John,” she presses on, lowering her voice. “Familiar as in it’s almost the exact way McKenna or I or, probably, you would tail a suspect.”

 

She stops, staring at him with dark eyes until it clicks what she’s telling him. Oliver glances around the hallway, suddenly feeling the eyes and ears of dozens of officers, administrative assistants and lab techs buzzing around the building. He takes Dinah’s arm and leads her down the hallway into an interrogation viewing room, double checking any recording devices are off in it and the adjacent room before he speaks.

 

“You think it was a cop?” He hisses.

 

“Think about it,” Dinah insists. “How many of the people out there are ex-forces? More than half of the on-duty officers here moonlight with private security to make some extra cash. What’s to say there aren’t guys out there whose loyalty to Blackhawk outweighs their loyalty to the city?”

 

Oliver spins away from her, pinching his brow and considering her words. It’s not something he hasn’t thought about before. Hell, he has a whole file at home of his surveillance on officers in the department as he searched for the leaks. But he hadn’t been able to find anything on anyone that would have proved corruption.

 

“What did McKenna say?” He asks.

 

Dinah tosses her head in an annoyed way, her hair moving over one shoulder, and it tells him exactly what McKenna must have said. She’s worked with the department longer than either of them, has longer ties and deeper bonds. Something like this would be harder for her to swallow than either of them.

 

“Look into it,” he instructs. “Discreetly.”

 

“It’s not my first time down this path, Oliver,” she says, earning a confused from him. “There’s a reason Captain Lance brought me in. I had a bit of a reputation in Central City. One he didn’t want the rest of the department to know about.”

 

“You can explain it to me later,” he sighs, growing tired under the heft of the secrets being kept from him, the secrets he’s been keeping. “Just be careful. Felicity and I will help however we can, but we need to keep this killer the priority right now.”

 

“Do you trust her on this?” Dinah asks with a frown. Oliver knows she’s not one to trust blindly and he hadn’t shown Felicity the warmest welcome when she’d arrived. But he also knows Dinah trusts his judgement as he trusts hers. She’ll follow his lead on this.

 

“I do,” he says and she nods.

 

“And McKenna?” She presses.

 

“Just work the evidence,” he says. “Talk to John again, keep trying to find Knox. We need to know how he knew to run just before we got to Blackhawk. If you can find something concrete, McKenna will follow the evidence with you. She’s a good cop.”

 

“I know that,” Dinah nods. “I’ll let you know what I find.”

 

She turns to head for the door and Oliver waits until she leaves, the door falling shut behind her, before he falls into a computer chair situated in the room. Someone must have brought it in from the bullpen to observe an interrogation, but it’s more comfortable than leaning against the wall.

 

Exhaustion is settling in and he feels it down to his bones. He needs sleep and more caffeine. Lifting a hand to his lapel, he lifts his leather jacket out of the way to sniff the sweater beneath. He needs a shower.

 

There’s still so many questions and not enough answers. Before he can take a breath, it feels as if he’s being pulled under the tide again. A raging sea of uncertainty, uninterested in letting him find the shore but unwilling to pull him under and stop his breathing all together.

 

His eyes fall shut as he slouches down in the chair a bit, lets his thoughts drift. He pictures that raging sea, fighting against waves that buffet his body. His ribcage aches, as if the beating is real rather than imagined, but as he drifts further the sea calms, settling into soft rolling waves and a bright sky. He can see the shore now, a sandy white beach just out of reach.

 

It calls like a siren song.

 

The door opening in a rush pulls him from the near sleep, ripping the image of the sea and the backlit figure standing on the sand from his mind.

 

“There you are!”

 

The voice is wrong, familiar in a different way. He blinks his eyes open just as McKenna pushes the door closed behind her. Why had he been expecting Felicity?

 

“I’ve been looking for you for, like, twenty minutes,” she complains, glancing through the window into the interrogation room and checking for anyone within. Oliver frowns, lifting his arm to shove the sleeve of his jacket back and check the time. He certainly hadn’t felt as though he’d been asleep that long.

 

“Sorry,” he says, sitting up and scrubbing a hand over his face. He feels even more tired than he had before he’d taken the cat nap. If he keeps to this, the lack of sleep is going to begin to play tricks on him. “Must have lost track of time.”

 

McKenna eyes him carefully and he straightens under the look, familiar enough with the gaze to know what she’s looking for – Cracks. He’s not sure he has it in him this afternoon to hide them well enough.

 

“When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?” She asks and he shakes his head silently. It’s enough of an answer for McKenna, who gives a sigh and presses on, “I wanted to give you an update on Falk. We couldn’t keep him, but we have a couple officers watching him. Making sure he doesn’t run or do something stupid.”

 

“Which officers?” He asks.

 

“I trust them,” she responds, a little sharply, and Oliver knows she’s still trying to swallow what Dinah thinks she’s found.

 

“McKenna,” he sighs, pushing out of the chair to meet her in the middle of the room. “I know it seems like a lot to consider, but you have to admit that there’s been something we’ve been missing the past few months.”

 

“There’s a difference between someone being a blabbermouth and suggesting that we’ve been working with dirty cops for – what?  _ Years _ ?” Her voice is lowered, despite the door being closed, but he can hear the frustration there regardless.

 

“I’m just saying, we can’t write it off just because it’s difficult to swallow,” he says, earning another look from her.

 

“Please don’t lecture me,” she bites and he sighs again, taking a step back from her as he puts his hands up apologetically. “Look, I’m trying, okay? Let me do what I do best. I’ll follow the evidence and do my job. Whatever that means at the end of all of that, I’ll deal with it when we get there.”

 

Oliver nods, knowing better than to argue any further. He’d meant what he’d said to Dinah earlier. McKenna is the best cop he knows and if the evidence leads her to the truth, no matter how ugly, she’ll trust it. It’s why he’d asked her to handle John’s assault in the first place.

 

Instead, he brings them back to the topic at hand.

 

“We need to find out if there’s a connection between Falk and Veronica,” he says. “If he’s our guy, there’s going to be something that leads him to Veronica. She’s too far outside of the usual M.O.”

 

“Yeah,” McKenna nods and he figures she’s already had the thought. “I have Alena working on already. She’s digging through everything we were able to actually include in the warrant when we brought him in, past posts on the forum. You should go home and get some sleep.”

 

He’s already shaking his head before she can even fully get the words out. “No, that’s not necessary, I’m–”

 

“Oliver,” she says, and he realizes she’s using her boss-voice on him now. “It’s not a suggestion. Go home and get some sleep. You’re no good to any of us if you’re dead on your feet.”

 

After a short stare down, he nods once. There’s no use arguing over it and he clearly needs the sleep.

 

“Felicity found a second laptop at Veronica’s apartment,” Oliver tells her. “I’ll ask her to look into the data she pulled off of it and see if she can find anything that mentions Falk or the forum he was posting to when she gets back and then I’ll head out.”

 

“Oh, she’s downstairs with Alena already,” she says. “She was looking for you when she got back. Seemed kind of shaken. Where exactly did she run off to?”

 

Oliver stares her down as she fixes him with a calculating look.

 

“No idea,” he lies.

 

\---

 

When he gets downstairs, Felicity is pacing in front of the open door to the technical division. She twists her phone anxiously in her hands, spinning it end to end between the pads of her fingers. Her nerves immediately kick his own into overdrive and he hurries to reach her, meeting in the middle of the hallway when she spots him as well.

 

“Oh, good,” she sighs, the flipping of her phone only halting so she can gesture with it instead. “I was looking for you but then I wasn’t sure where you were. And, I mean, I thought about calling you, but then I thought what if you were in the middle of something important, right? So, I didn’t want to interrupt. But then, well, I didn’t know how you’d know I was looking for you if I didn’t call, so I thought I should maybe text you or something, but I–”

 

He’s sure she’s going to run out of breath and pass out in front of him if he doesn’t stop her.

 

“Felicity,” he says gently, but it works to bring her back to the ground. She inhales sharply, remembering herself, and her shoulders go so tight he fears it might actually hurt her. He frowns at her. “What’s wrong?”

 

She glances warily behind her at the open door where he’s sure Alena is working still. He understands, tilting his head down the hallway. Felicity moves past him, leading him to the bathroom where he’d pulled her a few days ago to talk about Knox. She doesn’t hesitate this time, leading him through the door marked  **_MEN_ ** .

 

“What happened with Adams?” He asks, reaching into one of the showers and turning the knob until a heavy stream of water comes through the showerhead. It beats down against the tile beneath in heavy slaps, covering their conversation.

 

“Nothing,” she says, a little too quickly and he gives her a look. Clearly, something had happened or they wouldn’t be standing here. “I mean, not really, you know? I think she’s starting to, maybe not trust me, but start to  _ start to _ trust me. Does that make sense?”

 

She’s still going too fast and he knows there’s something she’s not telling him.

 

“Felicity,” he tries again, hoping the sound of her name will carry some comfort. Before he can think better of it, he’s reaching out for her, placing his hand gently on her shoulder and squeezing. “What did she say?”

 

“Well, first of all Adrian was there again,” she says, finally slowing down as she replays the events for him. “They played it off as a coincidence, but I think she’d invited him after we’d set up the meeting. I mean, I can’t know for sure, but something was off. Otherwise, it kind of went like you expected. I dropped the info on Lance and she definitely already knew, but I don’t think she knew that I knew that she knew.”

 

She pauses for a moment, rethinking the sentence to herself.

 

“You know what I mean,” she huffs and he nods.

 

“So, why do you look like you’re about to combust with nerves?” He asks.

 

“That’s the thing,” she sighs. “It all seemed so casual. She started talking about her family all of a sudden – her husband and daughter. And all the while Adrian is just kind of observing us, right? Which is weird on it’s own, but whatever. Then, all of a sudden, she shifts the conversation and she brings up my family.”

 

“Your family?” He echoes.

 

“Well, it’s… it’s complicated,” she says. “My family, I mean. But Adams… Oliver she knew things that some of my superiors at the Bureau don’t even know. About me, my mom. My dad.”

 

“Was she threatening them?” He asks, sudden anger bubbling within himself. He realizes, with a jolt, it’s not Adams he’s mad at. Well, yeah, he is. But, mostly, he’s mad at himself for putting Felicity into the position to begin with. As much as it will hurt him, he aches to be able to send her away from this whole mess, away from him and his city.

 

She shakes her head, “I don’t think so. Like I said, it was all so casual, you know? I don’t think it was meant to be a threat. More like a power move.”

 

“A reminder,” Oliver says, cold dread settling the anger in his stomach.

 

“Of what?” Felicity asks.

 

“Of what you have to lose,” he says solemnly. The bathroom quiets save for the too-loud sound of the running water behind them. Adams hadn’t been threatening Felicity, but she’d been reminding her that she could. Reminding her what cards she has in front of her.

 

“She wants to make sure I’m kept in line,” she says after a moment and the coldness in her voice startles him, seeming wrong coming from the woman in front of him. Sharp eyes meet his, bright blue and filled with an emotion he recognizes. “Oliver, I’m…”

 

She struggles a moment and he supplies, gently, “Scared.”

 

“Fucking pissed,” she corrects and he almost laughs at it. “She can threaten all she wants, but I’m not a pawn on her chessboard. We’re going to figure out what her endgame is and then we’re going to stop her.”

 

Here he was worried about hiding her from all of this and yet he doesn’t think he’s met someone more driven than her. If anyone were going to fix what’s wrong in Starling City, he wouldn’t be surprised if it were Felicity Smoak.

 

\---

 

“McKenna’s sending you home?” Felicity asks once she’s calmed down some and they head back down the hall to the office.

 

“ _ Us _ ,” he amends. “And, trust me, you don’t want to ignore her direct orders.”

 

Technically, McKenna’s orders hadn’t included Felicity, but he gets the feeling that if she knew Felicity is running on just as little sleep as he is, they would have. Still, it’s easier if Felicity thinks the command is coming from a superior. He’s pretty sure she’d argue if he were the one sending her home.

 

“Well, I still need to look into Veronica’s files,” she says, hesitantly. Maybe she’ll argue anyway. “Alena said she’d been told to look through Falk’s things for a connection to Veronica, but I wanted to look through her secret laptop files for something about Falk, Webb, or Mendez. I’m sure there’s some sort of connection we’re missing.”

 

“We’re gonna figure it out,” Oliver promises her as he ushers her into the office.  “But, as McKenna pointed out, we’re no good to anything if we’re running on empty. And I know for a fact you haven’t slept anymore than I have the past few days.”

 

The sound of typing suddenly stops and the office goes silent. Oliver glances over at Alena in confusion, but her eyes are very decisively on her computer screen and not them. When he looks back at Felicity, her cheeks are pinker than they’d been a second ago, but she hurries to her own borrowed workstation.

 

He cringes as he realizes how his own words had sounded. And usually she’s the one scrambling to take her words back.

 

“Regardless, I’d at least like to get something set up to begin looking for keywords in Veronica’s files,” she says, smoothing a hand over her ponytail and ignoring the awkwardness he’d created. Alena returns to her work, clearing her throat softly behind Felicity.

 

“Fine,” he nods. He still has to do what he came back to the station to do in the first place. “I need to talk to the Captain and then I’ll give you a ride back to your hotel.”

 

“Sure,” she says distantly, her fingers already moving over the keyboard in front of her, and he knows he’s lost her to the work.

 

\---

 

Oliver would consider himself a brave person. In his line of work, you’d have to be. For better or worse, you don’t stare down serial killers and psychopaths without developing some level of a god complex. Some semblance of belief in your own immortality.

 

But his fear of Quentin Lance goes back long before his time with the department or even the military.

 

It makes him stall outside of the closed door to the Captain’s office. He can’t remember the last time he’d gone inside to speak with his commanding officer without some kind of buffer between them. A shield to keep him protected from Lance’s harshest of looks and biting words.

 

He knows Lance’s consistent disapproval of him shouldn’t matter to him. But, somehow, it still does.

 

Frustrated with his own nervousness, he tugs the door to the office open and steps inside. Lance looks up at him from where he’s working at his desk, surprised at the intrusion, and his eyes darken when he realizes who it is. Typically, he wouldn’t open the Captain’s door without knocking and asking entrance. But the time for civility for the sake of peace has passed.

 

“Sure, come on in,” Lance bites, shooting Oliver a sarcastic grin as he pulls the door shut behind him. “Can I get you something? Maybe some tea or something to put your feet up on.”

 

“How about a hit off that flask you keep in your desk drawer?”

 

The question sobers Lance up and the conversation is no longer sarcastic as he glares Oliver down. He refuses to sit, choosing instead to stand behind one of the chairs in front of the Captain’s desk. He crosses his arms over his chest.

 

“What do you want, Queen?” He growls.

 

“I have some questions for you, Captain,” Oliver says.

 

“Is this an interrogation?” Lance asks, pressing but holding onto his anger. If he’s worried about what Oliver could have to ask, it doesn’t show. Oliver shrugs.

 

“That really depends on your answers.”

 

Lance’s jaw works as he sizes Oliver up. They’re at a standstill and Oliver knows Lance doesn’t want to concede power of the conversation over to him. But he also knows that the alternative of him kicking Oliver out and refusing to talk to him would look worse.

 

Finally, he leans back in his seat, spreading his hands wide. Open book. Somehow Oliver still doubts that, but if Lance will give him even an inch, he’s not going to waste it.

 

“Why did you meet with Ted Gaynor the week before he died?”  He asks, getting straight to the punch. It feels like ages he’s been waiting for the answer to that question. But he’d been putting off having to ask it.

 

They’d been so immediately overwhelmed after it, he doesn’t think Felicity had even thought to press him on the way he was avoiding it.

 

Lance glances past him, towards the closed door, and sits up again. He leans forward on his desk and lowers his voice.

 

“That’s more complicated than you may want to know, kid,” he says and the now unfamiliar nickname startles Oliver. Lance hasn’t called him kid since before Sara died. Back when his distaste for Oliver was more playful than real deep seated resentment. He stopped being a kid in Lance’s eyes a long time ago.

 

“Try me,” Oliver says, stepping in between the chairs in front of Lance’s desk to put himself closer to the Captain. He still doesn’t feel like taking a seat. When Lance doesn’t immediately respond, he tries again, “Blackhawk has always been on the department’s radar for being dirty, but every time we tried to make a move on them, they saw us coming a mile away. Like they had someone on the inside. Felicity found a meeting between the two of you in his calendar. So, again, why were you meeting with Gaynor?”

 

“Gaynor called me up and asked for the meeting, alright?” He says.

 

“Why?” Oliver presses.

 

“Like you said, the department had been building a case against his company for a long time,” Lance explains. “It wasn’t exactly news to Gaynor. He wanted to give me some… encouragement to nix the interest in him and Blackhawk.”

 

“Encouragement?” Oliver echoes.

 

“Gaynor knew what he was doing when he started employing people from the department,” he says. “He wanted to use them as leverage. Told me that if his company went down, it’d be taking down some of my own guys with it.”

 

“And what did you tell him?”

 

Lance sighs, his shoulders falling as he looks up at Oliver. A shocking weariness lies there, like he’d expected Oliver to think more of him. Maybe he should have. Maybe the truth is neither of them really know the other anymore.

 

“I may be a lot of things, Oliver,” he says. “But I don’t work with dirty cops.”

 

\---

 

“Do you believe him?” Felicity asks as they pull into the parking lot of her hotel. Oliver doesn’t answer until he’s pulled the car to a stop in a parking spot, settling it into park.

 

“Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, I think so.”

 

When she raises her eyebrows at him, unsure, he shrugs.

 

“Lance and I have known each other a long time,” he explains. “Longer than either of us wants to deal with. He’s not that kind of a man.”

 

She stews on this for a moment, chewing on the edge of her lip, before nodding. “Okay. I trust you.”

 

He nods in gratitude and Felicity gives a heavy sigh, falling back against the seat behind her. Oliver resists the urge to laugh at her, the youthful frustration she gives off.

 

“I know I’m tired but,” she shrugs a little helplessly. “Falling asleep probably won’t be easy.”

 

“Feeling a little wired?” He asks, unable to contain the smile at her as she shifts in the seat next to him. She should go. He should just tell her to get some sleep and head to his own home for the same.

 

But he likes talking to her.

 

“Yeah, I just,” she starts, pausing and seeming to consider her thoughts. He waits her out. “I just feel like we’re missing something, you know?”

 

“Yeah,” he sighs, the smile slipping from his face. “I’m sure coming at it with fresh eyes after some sleep will help.”

 

“I just mean,” she tries again, haltingly and he frowns at her. She grows frustrated, biting down on her lip as her painted nails pick at the threads in her coat.

 

“What is it?” He presses, shifting in his seat to face her better. She turns as well so that the center console is between them.

 

“Maybe it’s the exhaustion and paranoia talking,” she says. “But doesn’t it feel a little bit like we’re being led around?”

 

He sighs. “I know you’re worried about the stuff with the mayor.”

 

“No,” she insists, shaking her head. Becoming impassioned, she shifts forward and puts herself nearly in his space as she leans over the console. He becomes momentarily distracted by her closeness.

 

“I know how it sounds,” she continues, pulling his focus back to her words. “But I just have this feeling, like someone is pulling our strings, directing us where they want us to go.”

 

He considers it, that familiar dread from earlier returning. Maybe she’s right, but they’ve gone days with little food and even less sleep, running themselves ragged, chasing down leads that take them nowhere. The way that kind of thing can get to your head…

 

Well, it’s not exactly unfamiliar to him.

 

“Get some sleep,” he says gently, wishing he could pretend he doesn’t see the way her face falls. “Call me when you wake up and we’ll talk it out if you’re still feeling this way.”

 

Felicity watches him for a moment before giving a short nod and settling back into her seat properly. She reaches between her feet for her purse and pushes the car door open. Oliver knows she’s disappointed that he doesn’t agree with her.

 

“Felicity,” he calls softly just before she closes the door. She halts, meeting his eye and he wishes he could tell her what she wants to hear. Knows she wants him to trust her instincts on this but he’s just not sure he can handle much more.

 

“Sleep well,” he says instead and her gaze dips to the concrete beneath her feet as she nods again.

 

“You too, Oliver.”

 

She shuts the car door quietly and the space is suddenly all too silent without her in it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking with it! I know this doesn't help much, but I finished the next chapter (because I like to stay ahead) and it's absolutely one of my favorite chapters and I can't wait to share it with you all!


	14. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter might hurt.
> 
> Also, uhh sorry? I'm trying to get back into things but, in my defense, I did spend the past three weeks getting a magazine published (and of course nothing is ever on time) and I'm just doing a lot this semester. I'm trying to get better!
> 
> Previously: Veronica's secrets continue to pile as they learned she was seeing a second therapist under a different name. Oliver encouraged Felicity to use information about Lance to keep the mayor at bay and Dinah's investigation into John's shooting has led her back to their own police force. Felicity told Oliver about her concerns that there's something bigger at play than either of them realize and didn't quite get the response she was hoping for.
> 
> (Extra note: This is one of those weird chapters that starts with a scene kind of in between scenes in the last chapter. The exchange between Felicity & Alena takes place before Oliver drives Felicity back to her hotel. In case there's any confusion because it's been so long for most of you, I'm sure.)

“Okay, I have to ask, I’m sorry,” Alena says in a rush, spinning suddenly in her chair to face Felicity. Oliver had left the office just a few minutes before, leaving them to search through the data they’d collected to try and find a connection between Veronica Sparks and Joseph Falk.

 

“Uh, okay,” Felicity says slowly, glancing away from her computer when it’s clear Alena is waiting on her to respond. “Ask what?”

 

“ _ What _ is going on between you and Detective Queen?” Alena asks and Felicity feels her cheeks immediately warm at the question. She turns back to her computer, clearing her throat as she returns to her work.

 

“I don’t know what you mean,” she lies and, even to her own ears, it sounds forced. Still, she refuses to back down. “We’re just working together to find this killer.”

 

Alena gives her a look so intense she can feel it before she even glances over at the other woman. She huffs out a breath and spins in her chair, abandoning her very important work for a moment. Alena’s look is about what she’d been expecting and she bites down on her lip.

 

It’s already been a mess of trying to figure out who she can and cannot trust in this city, but Alena hasn’t given her any reason to doubt her. And, really, she can’t exactly talk about this with anyone else, except Oliver and that is… very much not happening. It’s such a cliche, women sitting at their desks gossiping about a man but…

 

Ugh. Whatever.

 

“Look, honestly, I don’t know,” she admits, leaning forward in her chair and dropping her voice. Oliver had seemed intent on whatever he’d needed to finish up before he’d left her, but she doesn’t want to risk being overheard anyway.

 

“Explain,” Alena instructs, rolling her chair closer to Felicity’s and leaning in as well. Felicity lets out a sigh, unsure how to even explain things between herself and Oliver. She’s worried if she verbalizes it that it’ll all sound so juvenile, so high school, and she’ll realize she’s made it all up in her mind. But, God. She really doesn’t think she’s made it all up in her mind.

 

“I think,” she starts hesitantly, “It could be something, you know? Like, it’s not just me getting caught up in my own head while Oliver is just trying to be nice–”

 

“I’ve never really known Detective Queen to ‘just try to be nice’ to anyone,” Alena interjects and Felicity pins her with a look as she presses on.

 

“My  _ point _ is that maybe there is something there or maybe there isn’t but,” she pauses, frowning to herself and breaking eye contact with Alena to glance back at the computer next to her. A progress bar moves slowly as it searches Veronica’s files. “It doesn’t really matter either way.”

 

“How’s that?” Alena asks.

 

“Because I’m temporary,” Felicity shrugs sadly. It’s the truth, no matter how much she and Oliver skirt around it. No matter how long they allow themselves to play partners, to flirt and tease. “At the end of this, I’m going back to my side of the country and Oliver will stay here. And that’ll be that.”

 

Alena frowns at her like she wants to argue, but Felicity can’t hear it right now. A sudden sadness sets into her with the reminder. Not just for her possibility with Oliver, but her friendship with Alena, her respect for Dinah. It’s all temporary and when she leaves it will fade.

 

Usually, she likes knowing that she can get up and go home. That nothing she does in the places she goes really causes an effect. No reason to put down roots. But she’s never taken this much of a front role in an investigation before. She’s never gotten so invested.

 

She’s never really been bothered by it before.

 

After a moment, Alena takes the cue and returns to her own work as well.

 

\---

 

Felicity closes the car door softly, listening for the click of it sliding properly into place before she steps away from the car. The last thing she wants to have to do is open the door again to close it properly. She doesn’t know what she’d been expecting from Oliver exactly, but it hadn’t been near complete disregard for her suggestion that they’re being turned in certain directions by someone.

 

It had felt like a punch in the gut when he hadn’t believed her. But maybe it shouldn’t have. How well do they really know each other? A few days of little sleep and shared meals doesn’t exactly make them old friends. But, still, after everything they’ve shared – the secrets and theories and trauma – she had expected more than just a brush off and the suggestion that she get some sleep.

 

She absolutely should get some sleep but, dammit, she had expected him to back her theory.

 

She crosses through the parking lot towards the entrance to her hotel, heading straight for the elevator bay to take her up to her room. It’d be a lie to say she isn’t looking forward to a few hours of silence, maybe a full night’s rest. Though she doubts it’ll be easy to get her brain to quit spinning for the time it’ll take to fall asleep.

 

Oliver had shared the details of his confrontation with Captain Lance on the drive to her hotel, but it had felt like it had only caused more questions than answers. There’s something about this town. Everything is connected by lies and threats and it all goes so much deeper than any of them are prepared to deal with. She considers Oliver’s suggestion that this killer could be a vigilante from a few days ago. Veronica Sparks had more or less thrown that idea out the window. There’s nothing about her that they’ve found that matches with the other victims.

 

And if a vigilante were going to go after every seedy and corrupt person in Starling City, they may as well cut the population in half it seems. No one here is clean, everyone’s fingers are tinged with blood or grime. Which makes her wonder just how much she doesn’t know about the people she’s working with. About Oliver.

 

It’s not a pleasant feeling.

 

Similarly, neither is the feeling that they’ve only scratched the surface of this case. Maybe Oliver is right, she’s certainly sleep deprived and over extended, but that doesn’t mean she can’t also be right. There’s something going on that they haven’t even gotten a glimmer of yet. Maybe it’s a victim or evidence. Maybe it’s a whole other player they haven’t met yet.

 

It feels like they’re working with half of a puzzle, trying to find an answer to a riddle that isn’t fully formed yet. The longer they spend chasing their tails and waiting for the answers to come to them, the more restless she feels. Felicity can’t be sure if they’re not being proactive enough – hell, she doesn’t even know how they could be doing  _ more _ – but she’s sure there’s something else at play here.

 

Her phone starts vibrating in her coat pocket as she steps into the elevator car and it takes her a moment to realize what the sensation is. Shaking her head at herself, she checks the caller ID before answering the call.

 

“Agent Smoak,” she answers, earning a look of appraisal from the woman who joins her in the elevator before the doors close.

 

“You haven’t been giving me progress reports,” Agent Watson says on the other end and Felicity frowns to herself. Was she supposed to do that? “That’s my fault, I suppose. I didn’t think I needed to spell it out that you needed to check in regularly.”

 

“Sorry,” is all Felicity manages, biting down on her cheek to keep from adding more choice words for her superior agent. Nothing good can come from her sleep deprived mind giving Watson attitude.

 

“So,” Watson says leadingly, before snapping. “Report.”

 

“Right,” Felicity nods, watching the doors slide open to allow the other woman off the elevator onto her floor. “I’m heading back to my hotel room to get some sleep right now, actually.”

 

“That’s not really the progress I meant, Agent Smoak,” Watson says. “Wait. Sleep? Isn’t it only four in the afternoon there?”

 

“Yeah, it’s, um, it’s been a long couple days,” Felicity explains. She stares up at the digital display above the elevator doors, watching the numbers tick upwards towards her floor. “We’re making progress in the case, though. Detective Queen and I have been working together and we have a few suspects.”

 

“I understand that the body count has continued to increase since you arrived,” Watson says and she frowns.

 

“I don’t think it’s related,” she says before her brain can catch up with her stupid, stupid mouth and Watson lets out a heavy sigh. Felicity thinks she might have been able to hear it all the way from D.C. even without the phone between them.

 

“My  _ point _ is that I cannot continue to let you work on a case we have no jurisdiction over while using taxpayer money indefinitely,” she explains.

 

“I’ve only been here a few days,” Felicity insists.

 

“You’ve been there a little over a week,” she corrects and she actually sounds a little worried now. Felicity supposes that with the lack of sleep, the days really have begun to run together. Still, that’s not nearly enough time to be suggesting giving up on the case.

 

The elevator stops at her floor and the doors slide open into the carpeted hallway. The pattern beneath her feet makes Felicity a little dizzy, so she keeps her gaze on the beige painted walls instead.

 

“I think we’re making real progress here, Agent Watson,” she argues. “And I can assure you that Detective Queen doesn’t feel as though I’m intruding on his territory. We actually work very well together and I think the rest of the detectives are beginning to warm up to me as well.”

 

“You can’t stay there,” Watson inserts and it’s so matter-of-fact it feels like a sudden blow. She knows that. Has known that since this all started, but somehow it feels harsh coming from Watson. She lets out a small sigh before continuing, “Look, I know you wanted to solve this one, Felicity, but sometimes this is the reality of things. Sometimes we don’t catch our guy. Sometimes we lose.”

 

“Give me a few more days,” Felicity says. “If things run cold, I’ll be on the first flight back to D.C.”

 

Watson hesitates and Felicity takes the moment to slide her key card through the lock on her hotel room door and step inside. She’d left a desk lamp on in the back corner of the room and warm yellow light fills the space, filtering over the single bed and couch towards the small entry hallway.

 

“I can give you until the end of the week,” Watson agrees and she feels something in her chest loosen. “But that’s it.”

 

Felicity sheds her coat, tossing it on the small table by the door. She catches her tired reflection in the mirror hanging over the table and nods to herself. The bags under her eyes are completely untamable by makeup and her ponytail looks like she took a nap in it. It’s not the best she’s ever looked, but somehow it’s still not the worst.

 

“Understood,” she says and Watson barely wastes a greeting before hanging up.

 

Felicity can do a lot in a week.

 

\---

 

She wakes up half-undressed, on top of the covers in her bed and can’t remember having fallen asleep. So maybe sleep came easier than she’d been expecting. The curtains are still open on one side of the room and she can tell it’s dark beyond the windows, nothing but overly bright light from the lamp posts outside coming through the glass.

 

Her limbs feel heavy and she lets herself just lay in the barely lit room for a while, her mind moving slow and sluggish. The thoughts feel like they’re coming through water, but she manages to search for her phone, tossed somewhere on the bed. There’s a text from Oliver that must have come through just after she’d fallen asleep, sent when he’d made it back to his apartment. He asks her to let him know when she wakes up and they can go get food.

 

Felicity sighs, letting the phone flop back against the mattress as she contemplates the ceiling above her. She knows it’s probably his attempt at an olive branch, reaching out because he’d realized how his lack of faith had affected her.

 

And, maybe that’s on her. Maybe lack of faith is the wrong phrase. After all, why should he have faith in her to begin with? But still, she’d gotten her sleep, she’d thought about it over and over before broaching the topic with him. She knew how it sounded but, dammit, she thought of all people _ Oliver _ would trust her instincts. And she still feels it. That prickling discomfort just beneath her skin that makes her feel uneasy, unsettled. Like they’re missing something so big and so obvious but so unclear. Like  _ she’s _ not putting the pieces together right.

 

Sitting up, the fog begins to clear from her mind and by the time she’s pulled herself from the bed and finished changing into more comfortable clothes – which she had clearly started to do before simply passing out on the bed – she has a game plan in mind.

 

“Alena, hey,” she greets when the other woman answers her cell phone. “Are you still at the precinct?”

 

“I was just about to head out,” Alena says. “What’s up?”

 

“I want to check on the progress on Veronica Sparks’ laptop,” Felicity explains. “Could you do me a favor and allow me remote access on the desktop?”

 

“Sure,” Alena chirps. “It’s gonna take me a minute to set up a secure account for you, though.”

 

Felicity pulls her own laptop from the hotel safe where it’s been stored while she carried her tablet around with her and sets it up on the bed as it boots up. She picks up a room service menu and glances over it as she waits.

 

“Alright, you’re all set,” Alena says after a few minutes when Felicity’s computer has booted up and sits, waiting, at the desktop. Felicity pulls up her remote desktop and Alena reads off the password she’d set so Felicity can log in. She thinks she hears someone else with Alena, urging her to hurry up.

 

“Everything okay over there?” Felicity asks, frowning as she waits for her laptop to connect to the desktop in the precinct. “Is someone rushing you?”

 

“Oh, yeah, it’s nothing,” Alena brushes her off. “Just trying to get out of here to get dinner. Is it working?”

 

“Yep,” Felicity nods, already looking through the data the computer has compiled. “I just got in. Thanks, Alena! Have a nice night!”

 

Alena wishes her the same, though Felicity knows she’ll be spending the rest of the evening poring through Veronica’s files looking for any mention of Falk or either of the therapists she’d been seeing. She makes a mental note to search for the receptionist at the therapy offices as well. If the woman had been lying, she’d been doing a good job of it, but she doesn’t want to leave any stone unturned.

 

She only makes it about twenty minutes before the pain in her stomach has her reaching for her cell phone again. The text from Oliver is still unread, a little number one reminding her of the missed notification. For a moment, her finger hovers over the texts icon. It might be nice to have another person to go over all of this with and he had already suggested they get dinner.

 

But she’s still frustrated with him and Felicity is nothing if not petty at the worst of times.

 

Instead, she tosses the phone aside and grabs the room service menu again. Crawling across the bed, she reaches for the hotel landline sitting on the table next to it and dials.

 

\---

 

It’s a little after 10 P.M. when her phone pings with an email notification. Felicity registers it vaguely, but doesn’t bother checking it right away. She has a few subscriptions that come in at odd times of night, so she doesn’t think much of it until she goes to clean up the dishes brought up by room service and decides to check her phone.

 

The email was sent to her personal email, but she doesn’t recognize the address as someone from her contacts or one of her subscriptions. There’s nothing in the body of the email except for a large video file attached to it. The subject is just the grouping of letters and numbers that make up the name of the file.

 

It’s amazing her email hadn’t immediately flagged it as spam.

 

Instinct kicks in and she immediately moves to send the email to her junk folder, but something stops her. Instead, Felicity locks the phone and crosses the room back to her laptop. She pulls the email up there and lets a program check the file for any viruses before she downloads it. On the questionable hotel wifi, it takes a nearly depressing amount of time to download. Watching the progress bar move in a slow circle hurts her. Like, physically.

 

She decides her eyes could use a break from staring at the screen anyway and she’s definitely beginning to smell like she hasn’t spent more than a few minutes in her hotel room in days. Which means it’s probably time for a shower. The water is nearly scalding but it feels nice against her skin, washing away days of stress and tension. The wifi might suck, but at least her hotel has amazing water pressure.

 

She’s combing a leave-in conditioner through her damp hair when her computer chimes and reminds her of the file being downloaded. She tosses the comb in the sink and pulls a sweatshirt over her head before hurrying back to the bed.

 

The video pulls up in the player on her laptop and a message appears on the black screen.

 

“ **_I believe you’ll find what you’re looking for in this._ ** ”

 

Felicity frowns as the black fades away and cuts into a static-clouded image instead. She’s seen enough traffic camera footage in her life to know that’s what she’s looking at. Once the noise settles enough, she can make out the corner of a building. An alley, with dumpsters and puddles that reflect the light above it. At the bottom corner of the screen lies a time and date stamp.

 

She frowns at it, something tickling her as familiar as the minutes tick quickly by, the light shifting around the building until it fades to night. That date. She knows that date. Why? She checks the date at the bottom of her computer screen – the days blurring and dates becoming useless the past week – and counts backwards.

 

That was the night John Diggle had been attacked. The night she went to Oliver’s apartment and he’d told her about his secret investigations. The night… 

 

“Oh my God,” she breathes, hitting pause on the video before it can get any later in the night. She fumbles across the bed for her phone and calls Oliver. It rings three times before he answers.

 

“Hey,” he says softly, and if she weren’t already so flustered she’d take time to stop and admire the sleepy tone of his voice, the slow slur of the word, the way something like surprise colors it at her call. “I was wondering if you were just gonna sleep through the night. I didn’t want to call and wake you–”

 

“Oliver,” she says cutting in because, God, as much as she wants to focus on those things, this is so much more important. “I need you.”

 

He barely takes a beat.

 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, alert now by her own haste.

 

“Can you meet me at my hotel?” She asks, instead of explaining. There’s shuffling on the other end of the line and she imagines him sitting up, pulling on a jacket over whatever he’d fallen asleep in.

 

“I’m on my way.”

 

\---

 

“You haven’t watched it yet?” Oliver asks.

 

“Nope,” Felicity answers, her hands fidgeting endlessly in front of her. She hasn’t repainted her nails in days and the chipped polish catches as she scratches at her own nail beds, the color flaking to the carpeted floor beneath her bare toes.

 

The laptop sits on the hotel bed as they hover off to the side of it, staring like they expect it to come to life and solve all the world’s mysteries for them.

 

“It could be nothing,” he suggests and Felicity sends him a look. He frowns and looks away from her. “I’m just saying, it  _ could _ . It’s not like we never get false tips from over excited community members.”

 

“This feels,” she starts, hesitating as she remembers how he’d reacted to her theories earlier that afternoon. Instead she finishes quietly with, “I don’t know.”

 

Targeted. She was going to say it feels targeted. This wasn’t an anonymous call to a tip line or even her government email. This was a very specific message sent directly to her, personally. Nothing about it feels like business as usual.

 

“We should just watch it,” she says decisively and Oliver nods in agreement. She moves to the bed, climbing back into the position she’d been in when she’d realized what the video was and had stopped to call him. He hesitates at the edge and she doesn’t think twice about patting the space next to her. Over the covers, fully clothed, his shoes still on. Strictly professional.

 

She takes a deep breath, lets out a quiet “okay”, and presses play on the video once more. The lights in the video flicker and shift as the time ticks by, but otherwise nothing seems to be happening. It’s only been about thirty seconds when Oliver says,

 

“That’s the back alley at Verdant.”

 

Felicity frowns and watches the screen more intently. That’s what she had been afraid of. Before either of them can fully process what they’re watching, a dark haired woman in a pair of sky high heels comes into frame. She slips from the door that leads from the club into the alley and the camera picks up on her face. Even through the static, Felicity knows its Veronica Sparks.

 

She leans back against the brick of the building, avoiding the dumpster on one side of the alley. The sequins on her dress catch the light and reflect it back in sporadic flashes brought on by the speeding up of the footage. Felicity remembers it had been an emerald color.

 

“Felicity,” Oliver says quietly, his eyes glued to the screen the same way hers are. “If this is–”

 

“I have to know,” she cuts him off.

 

They return to silence as Veronica waits, growing more irritated with the passing minutes. Finally, someone else joins her in the alley, coming from the street rather than the club. She tenses up at their arrival and they immediately begin to argue. Felicity wonders if it had really escalated so quickly or if the speed of the video is obstructing the reality.

 

Veronica points viciously with her phone, clasped in her hand, and appears to be shouting. The other person hasn’t turned to face the camera during the exchange and Felicity can’t make them out. They grab for the hand holding the phone suddenly and Veronica dodges the lunge, but the punch to her face clearly catches her off guard.

 

Felicity covers her mouth with the tips of her fingers to hold back her gasp at the violent sight. Veronica stumbles, dazed by the blow and nearly collapses in her heels before the other person catches her at the waist. They slip her phone from her hand and smash the screen of it against the edge of the dumpster. Felicity imagines that’s how her phone had ended up in the state they’d found it in.

 

Veronica reaches out, attempting to stop them as they give it a second hit against the metal, but she’s already staggering and a shove sends her reeling back against the brick behind her. She stops, supporting herself against the wall, keeping herself from collapsing. Satisfied with the state of the phone, the other person drops it and crowds her against the wall once more. This time, one hand goes to her jaw while the other slips inside of their coat pocket.

 

The motions are jerky from the change in speed but Felicity doesn’t need slow motion to see what happens next. The assailant pulls something from within their coat pocket and forces Veronica’s jaw wide, force feeding whatever is in their hand to her. She whips around, attempting to avoid it, but after the attack it’s useless. Any upperhand she may have once had is gone.

 

She slumps to the ground, her head knocking against the wall a few times as she goes, and the blood in Felicity’s veins runs icy. She reaches over on instinct, finding Oliver’s hand, and he squeezes her fingers.

 

“Oh my God,” she says quietly as the other person on the video finally turns to leave Veronica in the alley, giving just a momentary flash of his face.

 

“Webb,” Oliver growls.

 

“What the hell was Veronica doing?” Felicity asks, eyes trained to the woman in the video. She already knows what happens next, remembers finding Veronica a few blocks away. Still, it shocks her when the woman seems to come to. She staggers to her feet, using the wall to support herself. Before she stumbles out of frame, onto the walk down the street that would become her last, she stops to scoop the smashed phone up off of the ground.

 

The video feed cuts out, the screen going black on her laptop. There hadn’t been sound on the video, yet somehow the room seems quieter, colder. Felicity’s fingers shake where they’re still pressed into Oliver’s palm.

 

“We need to show this to McKenna and Lance,” he says, already reaching for her laptop.

 

“I have to make sure it isn’t doctored first,” she says quietly, blinking slowly at the screen. It could be fake. Or someone could have superimposed Webb’s face onto the video and sent it to her as a red herring.

 

She can feel Oliver’s eyes on the side of her face.

 

“Hey,” he says gently and it makes her shoulders go tense. “Are you–”

 

“I’m fine,” she insists, finally looking away from the screen to give him a sharp nod. “Give me thirty minutes to verify that it’s real and I’ll meet you at the station.”

 

He looks like he wants to argue, to stay with her. Maybe he doesn’t believe that she’s really fine. Hell, she doesn’t even know if she believes it. But something in her face must tell him what a bad idea arguing with her would be right now. She doesn’t need him watching over her shoulder to make sure she isn’t about to have a breakdown.

 

She needs to get to work.

 

“Okay,” he says finally. “Half an hour. I’ll bring coffee.”

 

\---

 

Nervous energy has Felicity pacing back and forth in the viewing room. McKenna and Alena are both standing behind her, the former supervising the interrogation while the latter watches on in fascination. On the other side of the glass, Oliver and Dinah sit across from Dr. Webb.

 

Webb is visibly shaking. His hands are hidden under the table, but it does nothing to hide the tremors that run through his shoulders and all the way down to his bouncing toes. Felicity had made absolutely certain the video was real before she and Oliver had shown it to the Captain.

 

Lance hadn’t been happy about being called into the station in the middle of the night, but once he’d seen the video his demeanor shifted. He had ordered a uniform to call in Detective Drake and Lieutenant Hall. Felicity isn’t sure who’d called Alena, but she wasn’t surprised by her arrival either. She’s been working on the case just as much as the rest of them.

 

Webb wasn’t hard to track down. He clearly hadn’t suspected that they’d come knocking at his door in the middle of the night. Even easier than finding him had been breaking him. One viewing of the security camera footage and he’d started shaking and pleading.

 

Veronica had been investigating him for months. It’s why she’d begun to see him under a fake name, while keeping up her real appointments. She’d invited him out to the club, told him she was thinking about using again and needed some guidance. When he’d met her in that alley, he thought he was about to make a sale.

 

Instead, she’d cornered him with accusations and insisted she had everything she needed to turn him in. A bluff, Felicity figures, considering the phone Webb had consequently smashed held almost nothing on it. But Veronica was right and it cost her her life.

 

Oliver and Dinah leave him in the room with a uniformed officer. Felicity stalls in her pacing to watch him. Shaking hands come up from his lap and tear through his hair.

 

The rest of the encounter, Felicity had seen happen. She didn’t need to hear Webb’s recount. His justifications. Her stomach was rolling just watching him through the glass. A murderer, a drug lord,  _ and _ a coward. What a fucking catch.

 

The detectives come through the door into the viewing room and the small room becomes even more crowded. Felicity turns from the glass, facing towards the rest of the group but not looking at any one person. They’re all so calm and held together. Meanwhile, even if she had time to sleep, she doubts she’ll manage it for a while. The image of Veronica collapsing in that alley is burned into the back of her eyelids, the only thing she sees every time she closes them for too long.

 

“Can we get him to confess to the rest of the murders?” McKenna asks.

 

“He’s insisting that he only killed Veronica,” Oliver says. “Says he doesn’t know anything about the others.”

 

“Well, Veronica is the only murder we have him actually on video for,” Dinah comments. “But it seems like too much of a coincidence, doesn’t it?”

 

“The drug he gave Veronica so perfectly mimicked the effects of the implants,” McKenna nods. “I don’t believe that’s just happenstance.”

 

“We should ask him,” Felicity frowns, suddenly feeling the eyes of the room on her. She looks up. “About the drug, I mean. How does a psychiatrist know how to not only build a drug ring, but manufacture a drug from scratch? This isn’t a run of the mill chemical compound. It’s a designer drug.”

 

“Okay,” Oliver nods. “Let’s ask him.”

 

He pushes open the door he’d just come through and motions for Felicity to join him. She hesitates for a moment before crossing the room and entering the hallway. Oliver’s hands falls on her back naturally as he guides her towards the door, but it’s too warm, uncomfortable. Her chest tightens as they reach the door to the interrogation room.

 

“Wait,” she says suddenly and Oliver pauses, frowning down at her. “Sorry. I just, uh, I need a second.”

 

He nods, watching her as she takes a moment to ready herself. There’s something completely different about this situation. Logically, any of the people they’ve brought into this room and sat across from could have been a killer. But there’s something different, chilling, about  _ knowing _ . For someone so obsessed with the truth, Felicity isn’t sure she’s happy to have it this time.

 

“Okay,” she nods after a moment. “Okay, I’m fine.”

 

Oliver waits another beat before opening the door to the interrogation room. This time, he walks in first and Felicity follows after him. As much as she likes to believe herself capable of anything, in this instance she appreciates his small show of protection. She settles silently into one of the chairs opposite Webb as he watches them.

 

“We just have a few more questions for you,” Oliver explains as Webb eyes her curiously.

 

“Tell me about your drug, Dr. Webb,” Felicity instructs, meeting his eye.

 

“I…,” he fumbles. “I don’t understand. I already told you about Veronica.”

 

“You’re a psychiatrist,” Felicity says. “And yet somehow you have the chemical know-how to create a previously unheard of designer drug? Did you miss your calling?”

 

Webb shifts in his seat, now the one avoiding Felicity’s eye. He stares past her instead, to the mirror behind her where he must know he has an audience. The move doesn’t seem calculated though. It seems scared.

 

“Lying to us won’t get you anywhere,” Oliver reminds him.

 

After a moment, Webb sits forward suddenly, leaning towards them. It startles Felicity and she resists the urge to recoil from him. Instead, she tightens her shoulders and listens when he begins talking.

 

“Look, the truth is I was just peddling over the counter drugs originally,” he explains in a low voice, the words coming quickly, as if he’s afraid who may hear them. “It’s easy to get pretty much whatever you need when you have a prescription pad. I’d up the price ten percent and sell to party kids who didn’t know any better.”

 

Felicity grimaces in disgust. Somehow his candor is making things worse.

 

“What changed?” Oliver presses.

 

“I don’t know where it came from, but someone sent me the instructions to make a new drug,” he continues. “It was completely anonymous and I thought it was bullshit when I first got it. But I started looking into it and I realized it was no joke. So I rented a lab and I synthesized as much I could and I started selling it for twice what I was selling the over-the-counters for. It was just business until Veronica came along.”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Felicity snipes. “You’re a regular Warren Buffett.”

 

\---

 

“I don’t like him,” she comments once they’re back out in the hallway.

 

“Yeah, he’s definitely not a prize,” Oliver says, securing the door shut behind him. Felicity shakes her head.

 

“No, I mean I don’t like him for the rest of the murders,” she explains. “We don’t have anything to tie him to any of the other deaths. We haven’t been able to find anything on Veronica’s computer yet–”

 

“We will,” he says reassuringly, squeezing her shoulder gently. “There’s something out there to tie him to it. There’s always something.”

 

“Oliver,” she says, batting his hand away. “I’m not worried that we won’t tie him to it. I’m worried that we’ll get so caught up in trying to tie him to it, the actual killer is just going to slip away. You cannot tell me this answer makes sense to you.”

 

“I know that it’s unsatisfying, but sometimes the truth is,” he says. “Most of the time it’s not as convoluted as it feels when we’re in the weeds and that makes it feel too easy.”

 

“That’s not what this is,” she insists, her irritation from earlier flaring again. This isn’t some whim because the answer is too easy. She knows what her mind is telling her. “Why can’t you trust me on this?”

 

“It’s not about trusting you,” he says. “But we need to work on making sure Webb isn’t responsible for these killings before we can just believe that he isn’t.”

 

Felicity lets out a frustrated laugh at the flawed logic and turns away from him. She runs her hand over her ponytail and hears him sigh behind her.

 

“Look, Felicity, I,” he starts, but the door to the viewing room opening makes him stop. McKenna steps out of the room and takes a step towards them.

 

“We need to update the Captain,” she says and Felicity doesn’t turn, but she feels Oliver’s eyes on her nonetheless.

 

“Yeah,” he says to McKenna, before lowering his voice and directing his next words at her. “It’s been a long night. Let’s call it and start fresh in the morning, alright?”

 

He waits a moment for her to respond but, when she doesn’t, she hears his footsteps descend down the hall. McKenna’s join his and she waits until they’ve disappeared altogether before turning back around and letting herself lean back against the wall.

 

The door opens again and Dinah and Alena come into the hallway, spotting her leaning against the wall. Alena frowns at her, joining her outside of the interrogation door, and Dinah follows behind her.

 

“You good?” Alena asks and Felicity is shaking her head no before she can stop herself.

 

“This just doesn’t feel right,” she says and Dinah tilts her head, listening curiously. “We have a motive for why Webb killed Veronica, but we have nothing to suggest him for the other murders.”

 

“Do you believe someone just happened to send him the perfect drug?” Dinah asks.

 

Felicity hesitates, running through everything Webb had told them in her mind. There are too many holes, too many unanswered questions. She can’t formulate a hypothesis based off of nothing.

 

“Webb said he rented a lab,” she reminds them. “Do we know where?”

 

“Yeah,” Alena nods. “When I heard you were bringing him in, I ran him through public records. He thinks he’s so smart, but he actually rented the lab under his own name. Amateur.”

 

Dinah chuckles, shaking her head at Alena before focusing back on Felicity.

 

“Why?”

 

Felicity pushes up of the wall and squares her shoulders, offering the other women a challenging eyebrow raise.

 

“How do you two feel about getting into a little trouble?” She asks.

 

Dinah and Alena share a look, but the crooked smirk that colors Dinah’s expression answers her question.

 

\---

 

The laboratory is only creepy in the way any building covered in crime scene tape seems haunted after dark. After Alena had found the address, lab techs and uniforms had been called in to go through and close the lab up. It had been preliminary, just to keep the area cordoned off until they could get a full team and the detectives on site in the morning.

 

Felicity hadn’t intended to wait that long. They don’t technically have permission to be here – especially not Alena and herself whose access to crime scenes is questionable at best – which is where the trouble had come in.

 

It could be worse, she figures. At least Dinah is with them.

 

“Alright, let me clear the area,” Dinah instructs as she parks the car across from the rental space. The lab is on the first floor and Felicity can see the bright yellow tape reflecting the street lamps as she slides out of the backseat. “You two stay out here and I’ll call when it’s clear.”

 

She pops the trunk and pulls out a set of department-issued walkie-talkies, handing one to Felicity. She nods, slipping the bulky device into the pocket of her trench coat. Dinah crosses the street at a half jog and enters the building, slipping deftly underneath the crime scene tape.

 

“What do you think we’re gonna find here?” Alena asks, rubbing her hands over her biceps. She had been a little more hesitant about joining them, but hadn’t taken Felicity’s offer to stay behind either.

 

“I’m honestly not sure,” Felicity shrugs. “Maybe something that will tell us if Webb is telling the truth, who sent him the compound for the drug. Something.”

 

“Dinah told me what was on the video you were sent,” Alena says slowly. “I didn’t watch it but… I can’t even imagine how I would react to seeing that.”

 

“I’m not having a mental break, Alena,” she sighs, remembering the way Oliver had looked at her as if she were being irrational.

 

“I don’t think you are,” Alena insists. “I was gonna say that I think you’re one of the toughest people I’ve ever met.”

 

Felicity frowns, turning to face her.

 

“Really?” She asks incredulously.

 

“Yeah,” Alena laughs. “After all, it’d take somebody pretty damn tough to make Oliver Queen listen to them the way he listens to you.”

 

“Yeah, well,” Felicity shrugs, sighing. “He’s not listening very well right now.”

 

“Eh,” Alena shrugs. “He’s still Oliver.”

 

Felicity lets out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. She leans back against the car behind her and stares at the building in front of her.

 

“Thank you, Alena,” she says. “Not just for the compliment, but for helping me settle in when I got here. You were the first person who made me feel welcome and that meant a lot.”

 

“It’s always nice to have another nerd in the building,” Alena grins, leaning back against the car as well. They lapse into a silence, just the ambient city sounds filling it, until the radio in Felicity’s pocket crackles and Dinah’s voice comes through.

 

“Alright,” she says. “Scene’s clear. You’re good to head in.”

 

Felicity pulls it out of her pocket to respond in the affirmative before she and Alena take off across the street. They make it to the other side, careful not to trip up onto the sidewalk, and start for the property. The sound of screeching tires and a revving engine pulls them up short. Felicity spins in search of the source and Alena, a step or two behind her, nearly knocks into her with the sudden stop.

 

After that, everything happens so fast Felicity doesn’t really have a moment to process the events.

 

A loud sound, like a car backfire but ear splitting and too close, sounds. The familiarity of it turns Felicity’s blood to ice before she even realizes why. The car speeds by – nondescript but for the shiny black paint that reflects the street lights – and Alena stumbles against Felicity. They both go sprawling to the pavement and Felicity’s hands scrape against the cement, the rough surface scraping against the soft skin of her palms.

 

“What the hell was that?” She asks, dusting her hands together. Alena makes a strangled noise and it pulls Felicity’s attention. One hand is pressed against her stomach, her cotton jacket pressed flat between her palm and her torso. The other is laid out on the pavement as dark liquid moves in a slow pool towards it.

 

“Oh my God,” Felicity cries, when her mind realizes what’s happening. The blood moves in a dark pool across the cement, like black water rushing to fill the cracks in the pavement. She scrambles towards Alena, searching for the wound, hidden beneath her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. Alena, can you hear me? It’s gonna be fine.”

 

She presses her hand down against the wound, putting pressure until Alena gives a groan of pain. The walkie-talkie in her pocket crackles again.

 

“What the hell was that?” Dinah asks. “It sounded like gunshots.”

 

Felicity fumbles for it with her free hand, pressing the talk button with shaking fingers.

 

“It was,” she all but shouts. “Someone drove by and– I don’t really know, okay? But Alena was shot and I don’t– I don’t know what to do!”

 

“I’m calling for an ambulance,” Dinah says, much more hurried now. “I’ll be down in a minute. Keep your head on a swivel until I get there!”

 

Felicity doesn’t know what exactly she’s supposed to do if the car decides to double back and check their handiwork, but she can’t focus on it. Instead, she drops the walkie-talkie to the cement without a care for the plastic casing and presses both hands to Alena’s stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry!!


	15. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter finished for a while but something about it was bothering me and keeping me from moving on to the next chapter. So, I ended up adding an extra scene at the end - because it didn't initially end the way I had outlined it and I think that's what was stopping me. Which is why this one is 10k.... sorry? Hopefully the substance of this chapter - and the bottle episode feel of it - will make up for the wait between chapters!
> 
> I will say; this is a chapter that I might recommend rereading the previous chapter if you don't remember. Or just plowing ahead and hoping you remember from context! My "previously" isn't the most descriptive this time, if only because I wanted to stay in the feel of where the narrative left off.

_Previously:_

 

_A loud sound, like a car backfire but ear splitting and too close, sounds. The familiarity of it turns Felicity’s blood to ice before she even realizes why. The car speeds by – nondescript but for the shiny black paint that reflects the street lights – and Alena stumbles against Felicity. They both go sprawling to the pavement and Felicity’s hands scrape against the cement, the rough surface scraping against the soft skin of her palms._

_“What the hell was that?” She asks, dusting her hands together. Alena makes a strangled noise and it pulls Felicity’s attention. One hand is pressed against her stomach, her cotton jacket pressed flat between her palm and her torso. The other is laid out on the pavement as dark liquid moves in a slow pool towards it._

_“Oh my God,” Felicity cries, when her mind realizes what’s happening. The blood moves in a dark pool across the cement, like black water rushing to fill the cracks in the pavement. She scrambles towards Alena, searching for the wound, hidden beneath her hand. “Hey, it’s okay. Alena, can you hear me? It’s gonna be fine.”_

 

* * *

 

Tired. That’s the only thing Oliver is feeling at the moment. He’s gotten the most sleep he’s had in weeks and somehow he’s still just… exhausted. It’s like the feeling has settled into his bones, taken up residence in the marrow and refuses to allow him a moment of respite. Bringing in Webb is a good thing, and that’s how the rest of the department has taken it. At face value. Hell, Captain Lance had even managed to crack a smile that wasn’t entirely sarcastic.

But Felicity’s concerns are eating at him. He shouldn’t have let things fall the way they did between them, maybe. Or maybe it’s the best way things could have ended. Let her be angry with him as she boards a flight back to D.C. It won’t stop him from wanting her any less, but maybe it will save her some of it.

A voice in the back of his head, that sounds suspiciously like Thea, tells him he’s an absolute moron.

His fingers twitch and he fights down that familiar old urge for a nicotine fix. Years and years and the same old demons continue to haunt him. He moves for his desk – empty and left a mess by days of disuse as he’s run around the city with Felicity or spent his in-office time down in the tech department – and searches the drawers for a note he knows is still here somewhere.

The yellow square is wrinkled from his desk drawer and the adhesive on the back is no longer sticky, but the number scrawled in rushed handwriting sits there regardless. Too stubborn to keep it in his phone, not quite strong enough to throw it out completely.

“What’s that?” Dinah asks, coming up in front of him and frowning at the crumpled note in his hand. He folds it carefully, tucking it into the pocket of his jacket.

“Just an old note,” he says, brushing the question off. He pauses, nearly second guessing himself but decides to ask the question anyway, “Have you seen Felicity?”

He doesn’t miss the way Dinah squints at him, one corner of her mouth turning up in amusement – at his sake, which is hardly unexpected – before she answers.

“She’s downstairs with Alena,” she explains, but it doesn’t seem like quite the full answer. Oliver isn’t sure it’s his right to press right now. Dinah doesn’t give him a chance, glancing past him to Lance’s office, now dark as the Captain has headed back home, drunk on their assumed victory rather than anything else tonight. “You brief the Captain on Webb?”

“Mhmm,” Oliver hums. She narrows her eyes at him and he knows what’s coming before she asks it. Clearly, he’s not the only one Felicity’s been talking to.

“You really think Webb is smart enough to pull all of this off,” she starts, “Only to get taken down by a traffic camera?”

“Hubris can do that to you,” he shrugs, not really answering the question. Mostly because, well, he’s not certain anymore. He hasn’t been certain of much of anything in weeks. Except Felicity. Jesus, he’s an idiot.

“You should head home,” he suggests to which Dinah nods a little too easily. “We’ll sort everything out in the morning.”

“Sure,” she says, already turning to head away from him. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Dinah listening so easily to his suggestions is a red flag, but it’s one he can worry about later. He doesn’t know what she could be hiding from him, but if it’s something about her investigation into the leak in their department then, well, he’d rather not know right this moment.

His hand drifts to his jacket pocket again, fingers smoothing over the note as he considers heading downstairs to speak with Felicity. He doesn’t know if he really wants to leave things this way between them. It might be nice to just sit down and talk his frustrations out with someone. Although, if he’s being honest with himself, he’s also not ready to lay all of his demons out for her to see right this moment.

The paper in his pocket crinkles between his fingers and he removes his hand as if he’s been shocked. No, he needs someone who already knows the worst of him. From his other pocket, he digs out his phone and dials a familiar number instead.

\---

Lyla is the one who greets him at the perimeter. The grounds of ARGUS are surrounded by large, imposing security walls, but the area itself is tucked so nicely away that if you didn’t know what you were looking at, you wouldn’t know to fear it. Not dissimilar to the woman who directs the whole operation.

Oliver knows enough to appropriately fear Lyla Michaels.

“You took your time,” she says because they both knew he’d make this trip eventually. It’s not that it’s out of his way by much. It’s just that he hates to be so predictable.

“I’ve been a little busy,” he explains, shifting uncomfortably against the side of his car. He’s very aware that her acknowledgement of his visit isn’t exactly an invitation.

“I heard you caught your guy,” she comments, and he frowns. News travels fast. He shrugs noncommittally.

“How’s John?” He asks instead, straightening up. “Dinah said you moved him somewhere secure. Can I see him?”

Lyla is quiet for just a moment too long, enough to make him uncomfortable. He thinks she’s going to refuse to let him see John. He’s probably regained all of his faculties and remembered that he doesn’t actually want to see Oliver.

Finally, she heaves a great sigh and tosses her head towards the large Jeep she’d brought to meet him at the end of the gravel road leading from the security fence to the ARGUS building.

“Follow me,” she directs, not waiting for his agreement before walking away to climb back into her vehicle. Oliver scrambles to slide into his own car and get it running again, not wanting to be left behind on the wrong side of the security gate.

The cars rumble up the long road before they take a dip downwards, the crest of the hill falling to lead to an underground parking garage settled beneath the building. Two armed guards stop them at the entrance. One steps up to Lyla’s window and chats for a short few moments before waving both cars forwards. As Oliver passes, the man never makes eye contact.

“How’s he doing?” Oliver asks, once they’ve been herded into parking spots and Lyla is leading him towards the elevator that will take them up into the building. She swipes her ID badge and the doors slide open instantly.

“The meds have worn off, so he’s in some pain,” she explains, “but at least he’s a lot more present than he’d been in the hospital.”

Oliver hesitates at that. “Are you sure it’s a good idea for me to see him, then?”

Lyla’s professional facade breaks just long enough to shoot him a mocking look.

“What?” She asks. “Are you scared he might yell at you?”

Oliver glares ahead rather than responding. She continues to lead him down the halls, walls painted gray with large paned glass for windows that look into each office rather than outside. The lighting overhead does nothing to make the place appear any cheerier. Behind each window, Oliver can see large monitors mounted on walls and sprinkled across desktops. The tech is leagues beyond what they have in the precinct.

He wonders if this is the kind of place Felicity dreams of.

Lyla stops suddenly in front of a door and Oliver continues two more steps before he realizes. She watches him carefully, expression guarded as he takes a step back towards her. Her body stands between him and the door, feet set apart and hands clasped behind her in a familiar military stance.

He waits her out.

“Look,” she starts finally, once he’s sure she’s gone over the words she’s planning to say carefully in her own head. Never one to let something slip before she’s ready to. “This bad blood between you and John, it’s not good for either of you. It’s dragging you both down.”

“I agree,” Oliver nods, measuring his own words just as carefully.

“And yet you’re both too stubborn and bull-headed to admit that maybe you were both wrong,” she asserts, crossing her arms over her chest. The corner of her mouth ticks downward, betraying her annoyance and judgement, but her voice remains even.

Oliver has always been impressed by Lyla – not just her terrifying demeanor and commanding position within the semi-secret organization, but her ability to remain cool in a crisis, to stare men like himself and John Diggle down and make them feel their shame as though it’s tangible on their shoulders.

He sighs and allows his own stance to open to her, to show a touch of the vulnerability he tries so hard to hide. It’s not much, but he thinks someone like Lyla will recognize the gesture for its worth. They’ve always been startlingly similar in that way.

“I’m here, Lyla,” he says, voice low and tired.

She stares at him a moment longer, assessing him, before letting out a quiet sigh of her own. She shakes her head as she turns to the door behind her and pushes it open, stepping within. Oliver hesitates only a moment, half expecting the door to close on him, before following her.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” she admonishes as Oliver spots John across the office space from where the sofa has been repurposed into a bed for him.

“Yeah, but,” John shrugs, grinning at Lyla. “You know me.”

Oliver bites down on his tongue to keep from laughing as he imagines Lyla rolling her eyes at the man in front of her. She steps further into the room and Oliver follows after her, finally stepping into John’s view.

He sees the moment his old friend spots him, the easy grin for his ex-wife sliding off his face. Lyla, never one to miss a change in tension or mince words, waves a hand between them.

“I’ll let you two chat,” she says breezily, the words now completely void of the concern over their spat she’d given Oliver a glimpse of in the hallway. He almost envies her ability to compartmentalize, something he hasn’t been doing his best at lately.

She disappears back into the hallway, the door closing quietly behind her. Oliver sticks to his side of the room as John fusses with the things strewn across the couch until he can settle comfortably into the cushions. He favors his left side as he does so.

“How are you feeling?” Oliver asks, breaking the silence. John has always been one of the few people who could out-silence him. “Lyla said they took you off the pain meds.”

“Yeah, but I’m alright,” he shrugs. “I’ve been through worse.”

Any other time, Oliver might have assumed it was meant as a pointed remark at him. This time it just seems like the truth. So, he nods and picks a careful path to the chair sitting adjacent to the couch, watching John as he settles into it.

“I heard you caught your guy,” John comments and Oliver shakes his head.

“That’s supposed to be privileged information, you know,” he tells John, who simply shrugs. He sighs before continuing, “Yeah, yeah it looks like it. Or at least it looks like it’s supposed to look like it.”

“What does that mean?” John asks, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Oliver admits. “Felicity thinks it’s too easy. Lance thinks it’s a slam dunk.”

“What do you think?” John presses. Oliver stares ahead for a minute before giving a tired shrug in response. “How are you doing, man?”

Oliver gives him a look. “I’m not the one who was shot.”

“No, but I’ve at least been sleeping regularly, even if it was with the help of heavy pain suppressants,” he says. “You look like hell, man.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Oliver offers, but the words sound lame even to his own ears. He tries again, forcing more conviction into the words this time. “We’ve been working on trying to find your guy. My partner thinks it could have been someone from the department, which is…”

“A lot,” John finishes for him, sitting back and running his hands over his head. Oliver nods. The general negative optics of a cop stalking and shooting a private citizen – a black man – aside, everything about the situation is a lot to take in.

“Right now, we’re keeping it in a tight circle,” he explains. “Only a few people I trust.”

John nods, seeming to weigh this new information for himself. By now, Oliver’s sure he’s realized that Dinah and McKenna have been heading up the case. He and McKenna knew each other, briefly, over the overlapping of time between Oliver’s relationship with McKenna beginning and his friendship with John ending.

His eyes cut to Oliver suddenly, weighing him instead now. He shakes his head after a moment.

“That’s not why you’re here though,” he says, accurately. “What’s going on, man?”

Oliver sits back and considers the question for a moment. It had been his exhaustion, his fears that had prompted the thought of talking to John. But it had been his demons – ever present over his shoulder, pushing down on his back until he swears he’ll crack beneath it all – that had made him call Lyla.

“Honestly, I…,” he starts hesitantly before meeting John’s eye. “I needed to be around someone who knows who I really am.”

John gives him a confused look. “And that’s me?”

Oliver scowls a little and gives a petulant shrug.

“McKenna’s known you longer or Thea, you know your actual blood,” John continues, ignoring Oliver’s dark mood. “We’ve barely spoken in years. You can’t still say I know you better than anyone else.”

Oliver lets out a small huff, annoyed at John’s lack of understanding. It’s not about knowing where his favorite restaurant is or how old he was when he stopped sleeping with a nightlight. There are things about him that no one else could ever understand as well as John. Because so few people have had the opportunity to hate him the way John has.

“Oh, I get it,” John sighs eventually, still going off Oliver’s silence. He shakes his head, pushing gently up off the couch. Oliver watches him with some concern, unsure what state the wound in his side is in. “This isn’t about being around someone who knows you, it’s about being around someone who can confirm what you think you know about yourself.”

Oliver blinks.

“What does that mean?” He asks, remaining seated as John moves around the room on careful steps. His left arm is tucked tight to his side, protecting the wound beneath it. He stops on the other side of the coffee table and lifts his arms to cross them both over his chest.

Looking up at him, Oliver feels like a child being reprimanded.

“It means that, after all these years, you’re still on your self-loathing bullshit,” John explains and Oliver flinches, shooting him a dirty look. “Come on, man, be honest. You wanted to come here and have me confirm every terrible thing you believe about yourself.”

He stands from his own seat, no longer comfortable staring up at John from so low. He’s still taller than Oliver, even standing, but it makes him feel a little more even. He knows John is right, but why should that matter? They’ve spent years not talking because, as John puts it, all those terrible things Oliver believes about himself? John knows they’re true.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Oliver asks slowly, confusion dominating the words more than the anger he had expected to come from his own chest. “You as much as told me all those things were true three years ago.”

“Yeah,” John nods, letting his arms fall. “Yeah, I was angry. I felt betrayed and hurt. I was grieving.”

Oliver breaks the stand still, spinning away to look through one of the windows that faces out into the hallway. He wonders if this section of the building is underground or if the lack of windows to the outside world is a consistent design choice. He wouldn’t be surprised by the latter.

He watches Lyla pass by the room outside, caught in conversation with a man dressed in the all-black uniform of an ARGUS agent. She doesn’t look their way, doesn’t check if Oliver is still in the room. Maybe Oliver shouldn’t envy her ability to compartmentalize. Maybe, instead, he should allow his own propensity for it to fade.

Hesitantly, he slips his hand into his jacket pocket and feels for the post-it note left there. It’s crumpled even further now, folded in half twice and rumpled from his seatbelt most likely, but he turns back to John and holds it up.

“What’s that?” He asks with a frown as Oliver extends his hand, offering the note to him. He unfolds it, revealing the hastily scrawled phone number written there. Ink faded from years of having things stacked on top of it, rubbed against it.

“Tommy’s new phone number,” Oliver explains, stuffing his hands into the now empty pockets of his jacket, his phone slipped into his jeans pocket instead. He corrects, “Well, old-new, I guess. Not really new to him anymore, probably.”

“How long have you had this?” John asks.

Oliver shrugs. “I looked it up about a year ago. It wasn’t the most legal use of police resources, but…”

“Have you called him?”

Oliver only shakes his head. When John lets out a weary sigh, he knows it’s at his expense.

“This is what I mean, Oliver,” John says. “You’ve got all this stuff you’re holding onto, all these secrets and trauma. It’s weighing you down. I’m not sure how you’re still moving.”

“I have to,” he sighs. “If I give up now, then… what was it all for?”

John holds the post-it note up, the numbers out towards Oliver.

“From what I understand, Tommy left because he didn’t want to live under that weight anymore,” he reminds Oliver. “He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life answering for his father’s past.”

“Merlyn’s sins weren’t Tommy’s,” Oliver says. “He didn’t have to answer for them.”

“But you have to answer for yours,” John says, not a question or an indictment. An understanding of Oliver on some base level that he’s never been able to shake. He hands the post-it note back and Oliver holds it between gentle fingers instead of returning it to his pocket. “You have to forgive yourself for your sins.”

“You say that like it’s easy,” Oliver says, frowning at him.

“No, it’s not,” John admits, shaking his head. “But it’s a lot easier if you listen to other people when they forgive you first.”

Oliver considers this, recognizing the forgiveness John is offering even if he’s not ready to give it to himself yet. Suddenly, John points at the post-it note, still held between his fingers.

“Keep that number,” he says. “Call it when it’s not about either of your guilt.”

Oliver nods, tucking the note back into his pocket. He’ll return it to his office drawer tomorrow and maybe he’ll be ready to call it one day. His mind flits to Felicity, another person whose forgiveness he needs. More attainable but somehow the scarier one to seek right now.

“Thank you, John,” he says, holding his hand out. John takes it easily, his firm handshake familiar. “I’ll keep you updated on the investigation.”

He pulls his hand back and turns to head for the door, hoping he can find his way back to the parking garage on his own. John stops him as he pulls the door open.

“Oh, and, Oliver?” He calls, and Oliver turns back, humming in acknowledgment, but John isn’t looking at him. Rather, his gaze has focused itself to the window on the other side of the room. “All that weight you’re carrying? It’s a little easier if you let someone help you carry it.”

Oliver frowns, looking over to the window as well. Outside, Lyla is talking with an entirely different person in the same uniform. Her features are stoic as she listens to the woman’s words, but she must sense eyes on her because she looks to the window and her features soften, the corner of her mouth ticking upwards in a soft, quiet smile meant just for John on the other side of the wall.

“Yeah,” Oliver says softly, knowing he’s lost the attention of either person anyway. “I’m beginning to think you’re right.”

He pulls the door shut behind him and carefully traces the path Lyla had led him down back to the parking garage. He pulls his phone from his pocket as he settles into the driver’s seat of his car to check the time and realizes he has no service. Frowning, he wonders how long his signal had been stifled for and sets the phone in the cupholder.

Two ARGUS agents check him as he leaves the parking garage, taking down his license plate, driver’s license number and badge number before they let him leave the cement structure.

As he reaches the top of the hill, his phone begins to buzz against the plastic of the cupholder. He frowns down at it, watching notifications roll in but unable to read them without stopping the car. Another agent stops him once more at the exterior gate and he reaches for his phone as the man copies down the number on his badge a second time.

The thing that catches his eye – amid all the hidden notifications – is a voicemail from McKenna. The timestamp is from fifteen minutes ago, but he was sure she’d left the station and headed home right after Lance had.

He swipes on the notification, pulling up his voicemail as the agent hands his badge back to him through the window. McKenna’s voice is loud in the message, bracketed by wind that makes it sound as though she’s running. It immediately puts him on edge.

“Oliver, dammit,” she shouts and he has to turn the volume down. “Pick up! I know you don’t sleep. Look, something happened – I’m fuzzy on the details right now, but Felicity and Alena got shot at. Dinah’s at Starling General but I don’t… I don’t know anything else, okay? Just pick up the fucking phone! I swear-”

The line cuts out the rest of McKenna’s frustration with him, but Oliver barely notices. He revs the engine, careening back onto the dirt road that leads towards town. His mind can’t process anything beyond fear.

He rides that all the way to the hospital.

\---

His hands don’t stop shaking the entire way into the hospital. They shake as a patient nurse directs him towards the operating wing, as he presses the button on the elevator repeatedly to take him where he needs to go. They’re trembling so much by the time he spots Dinah pacing anxiously, dark hair, dark leather, dark jeans a stark contrast in the sharply white hallway, that he has to shove them in his pockets.

And then he sees her expression and his shaking fingers don’t seem so bad.

“Dinah, hey,” he calls gently as he nears her. The sound of her name seems to shake her from her state and her eyes focus on him, but that only makes things seem worse.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Dinah cry before.

“What happened?” He asks, the words working against his throat. He doesn’t want to know. He doesn’t want the truth this time because it very well could shatter him. Still, he tries to force out the question he wants to ask. “Is it-”

“Alena’s in surgery,” Dinah says, the words coming out in a rush. Anyone else might cling to him for comfort or strength, but Dinah stands on her own two feet. Only the trembling of her frame and the redness of her eyes give away her pain.

“What happened?” Oliver repeats, knowing how trauma makes it hard to focus. But he needs to know what’s going on. Where Felicity is.

“Felicity thought,” Dinah starts looking away from him. She swallows hard and tries again. “She thought there might be something to find at Webb’s lab. Alena and I went along with her. I told them to wait outside because,” she stops, giving a sharp, humorless laugh. “I thought it’d be safer if I went up first and made sure the place was empty. I radioed for them to follow me and next thing I knew I heard a gunshot and then Felicity was on the radio, telling me Alena had been shot.”

“Is Alena going to be alright?” Oliver asks, forcing himself to be patient with Dinah as she gives him information. He’s worried for Alena, of course. It’s just that not knowing where Felicity is still has his hands shaking in his pockets, trembling so terribly they may vibrate right through the leather.

Dinah shrugs helplessly.

“She shouldn’t have even been there,” she whispers and Oliver frowns.

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“The only reason she was even at the precinct tonight is because she was with me when I got your call,” she explains, staring at the doors to the operating rooms and wrapping her arms over her stomach. Understanding clicks in Oliver’s brain and a pressing pain takes over his chest in sympathy for his partner. He reaches forward and squeezes her arm gently.

“She’s gonna be fine,” he assures her and when Dinah doesn’t call him out for the obvious lie – how can he possibly know? – he understands how truly affected she is. Still, he only waits another moment before finally asking, “What about Felicity?”

Dinah doesn’t turn as she says, “They’re checking her for a concussion. McKenna’s with her.”

“Where?” Oliver presses. “Do you know what room?”

“The exam rooms are on the second floor.”

“Are you gonna be alright if I-”

“Just go, Oliver,” Dinah sighs, finally turning back to him. She doesn’t seem annoyed with his leaving her so much as with his presence. He wonders if having him seeing her so shaken is more frustrating for her than he’d realized. “I’ll be here.”

He nods and turns to head back to the elevators. If they’re just checking Felicity for a concussion, she can’t be that injured, right? Or she could have some actual head trauma. No, they wouldn’t just be “checking” for a concussion then, surely.

His hands are still shaking.

It’s nearly a miracle that he manages to find her. It’s not really Felicity he finds first, but McKenna. She’s standing outside of a room with a closed door, talking with a woman in a white coat. He doesn’t stop to talk to them, McKenna’s back to him, but hears the doctor give an indignant shout when he pushes open the door to the room next to them without permission.

“Excuse me, sir, that’s-” She calls, but the door swings shut behind him and, just before it closes, he hears McKenna tiredly tell the woman not to bother.

Felicity is sitting at the edge of an exam table with her hands clasped in front of her. Oliver vaguely registers the redness of them but is too busy looking her over for injury to pay much attention to the strange pigment. Nothing appears to be wrapped or bandaged or bleeding profusely.

She looks up, blue eyes rimmed in red and sparkling with the remnants of tears. There’s a small butterfly bandage over a cut on her forehead, but otherwise she appears uninjured. He could keel over with relief. Instead, he moves towards her, crouching in front of the table.

“Hey,” he says quietly as she looks down at him. His hand finds her knee, thumb brushing over the rough fabric of her jeans.

“Hi,” she whispers back.

“Are you okay?”

She nods, but her hands stay clasped between her knees, hidden beneath the dark pink fabric of her coat. The fabric seems darker than when he’d last seen it and he realizes it’s edged with blood, turning the pink to a red. At the edges of the stain, where it’s mostly dried, it’s turned to a brown.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” He asks now, unconvinced by his initial observation. Felicity shakes her head no. He frowns, unconvinced by her response to his first question. She avoids his eyes — not actively, but as if she can’t find it in herself to focus on him. As if she’s gone somewhere else entirely, somewhere he can’t follow or save her from.

He knows if she doesn’t bring herself back soon, she may not return the same.

“Agent Smoak.”

The doctor from outside has joined them now, snuck in the door silently at some point. Oliver turns his head to see her, his fingers still tight on Felicity’s knee. He realizes he must have been so focused on Felicity, he hadn’t heard the woman come in.

“Your scans don’t show anything abnormal,” the woman says, stepping further towards them until she’s standing next to Oliver. “There’s still the concern of a possible concussion, though, and I can’t release you unless you have someone who can stay with you tonight.”

He watches Felicity’s face as the doctor speaks. It gives nothing, and he can’t even be certain she’s really hearing what she’s being told.

“She has me,” he says, almost on instinct.

At the words, Felicity’s eyes cut to his suddenly. It’s only for a moment, but there’s some level of gratefulness there. He hopes if she didn’t want him to stay with her, she’d tell him as much, even in her current state.

He stands up, pulling his hand from her knee to cross his arms over his chest as he addresses the doctor now.

“What does she need?” He asks.

“I’m worried she took a blow to the head when she fell this evening,” the doctor explains in a low voice. He’s sure if she were in a better state of mind, Felicity would be chewing them out for talking about her as if she isn’t there. “She doesn’t really remember if she hit her head or not, which could be a sign of a concussion or it could just be a sign of the trauma from tonight.”

Oliver nods. He’s familiar with the symptoms of a concussion. And trauma.

“So, she’ll need observation,” she continues. “Normally, I would suggest staying in the hospital. But, after the night she’s had and with her history of anxiety, being stuck in an unfamiliar place could actually make things tougher for her.”

“I can stay with her,” Oliver says. “She’s been staying in a hotel downtown. It won’t be home, but it’ll be familiar.”

“She needs rest, but not continuous,” she goes on, nodding at his plan. “You’ll need to wake her up every hour, make sure she’s cognitive.”

“Right,” he says, frowning. “And how do I check that?”

“Ask her some orienting questions,” she explains. “Her name, the year, what day it is. Stuff that should be easy.”

Oliver looks over at Felicity again. She’s staring down at her fingers on one hand, the tips of the fingers on the other stroking over the skin of her palm. He suddenly realizes the strange color of her hands is dried blood, seeped into the cracks of her palms and washed out by the fluorescent lights overhead.

His chest aches.

“How’s Alena?” She asks suddenly, the rough sound of her voice startling in the silent room. It sounds wrong coming from her lips, but her eyes are more alert than they’ve been the entire time he’s been here. “Can I see her?”

The doctor steps around Oliver to address Felicity better.

“She’s in surgery right now and then she’ll move to recovery,” she explains gently. “It could be a while before she can see visitors. What you need right now is to get some rest. I’m sure your friends will keep you updated.”

“I’d like to stay until she’s out,” Felicity says, her voice stronger now as her conviction sets in. She sits up a little more, no longer crouched into herself.

“Agent Smoak, you need to worry about your own health, too,” the doctor argues. “If you plan to stay in the hospital, it will be under observation. I can’t release you unless I know you’re going to be able to get some rest.”

“Felicity, let me take you home, alright?” Oliver says.

She looks between both of them, a familiar crease to her brow that tells him she wants to argue. That’s a good sign, he thinks. Maybe she’s coming back to herself. Her eyes meet his, though, and that fire he’s become so used to from her is still missing.

He’s not surprised when she agrees, but somehow it makes his heart ache even more.

“I’ll go get your release paperwork started,” the doctor offers. “It’ll be at the nurse’s station when you’re ready.”

With the words, she turns and heads back out into the hallway. McKenna, still lingering outside the door, gestures for Oliver to join her. He tells Felicity he’ll be just outside when she’s ready to go.

“You staying with her tonight is a bad idea,” she says in a hushed voice as soon as the door closes behind him.

Oliver frowns. “How thin are the walls in this hospital?”

“I didn't need to hear it,” she says. “I knew what the doctor was going to tell her and I know _you_. It’s a bad idea.”

“McKenna, we’re not at the precinct right now and we’re operating way out of normal protocol,” he says, the words rough with annoyance as he keeps his voice low. “So, are you telling me this as my friend or as my boss?”

McKenna’s has works in an annoyance that matches his own and he knows the answer.

“Then, as my friend, I’m sure you won’t be surprised when I ignore your suggestion,” he says.

Her eyes narrow and he knows she wants to start a fight. This was always their downfall when they were together. Stubborn in all the wrong ways for each other.

It’s not that Oliver doesn’t understand her concerns. They’re the same as the ones he’s been battling for weeks now. Further attachment to one Agent Smoak may be best avoided, but he also knows it’s much too late for him. Someone should have stepped in the minute he met her.

If he’s honest with himself, Oliver’s been doomed since the start.

“Oliver,” McKenna says in warning, but stops as the door opens again behind him. Felicity steps out, silent, but her shoulders are higher than they had been. Oliver turns from McKenna to face her.

“You ready?” He asks and Felicity nods. She’s eying him and McKenna, though, and he knows she’s realized they’re in the middle of something.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll, uh, I’ll go get the paperwork filled out. You two finish whatever this,” she gestures between them, making a face, “is.”

Oliver waits until she’s out of ear shot before he turns back to McKenna.

“If I had listened to her tonight,” he explains quietly, “She might not have even been out there tonight.”

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself for every bad thing that happens around here?” She asks tiredly. Oliver gives her a wry smile.

“I’m trying to get better at it,” he admits, looking back down the hallway where Felicity has stopped at the nurse’s station, bent over some paperwork on the desk. “I just need to know she’s okay.”

McKenna lets out a heavy sigh.

“Fine,” she says, but the annoyance has faded some. “But we both know that has nothing to do with your guilt.”

Oliver doesn’t bother denying it.

\---

Felicity is quiet the whole ride to her hotel. She tucks her legs up underneath her on the seat and presses herself against the door. He knows she’s small compared to him, compared to most of the people he knows, but he’s never seen her look so tiny.

With her head ducked downwards, he thinks she may have managed to nod off in the car and he wonders, at each red light he pulls up to, if he should jostle her gently to make sure she wakes. Two blocks from the hotel, he’s made the decision that the next time he stops the car, he’ll try and wake her.

“Stop staring at me,” she grumbles, disproving his belief that she’s fallen asleep. “Watch the road.”

He sighs, but does as she asks. She doesn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride, hurrying out of the car as soon as he puts it into park in the lot surrounding the hotel. Oliver hurries after her, circling the car to stop her before she runs off without him. He puts his hands on her shoulders to halt her and ducks a bit, forcing her to make eye contact with him.

“Just wait here a second, alright?” He suggests, waiting for her to nod before he lets go and circles the car again. In the glove compartment, he keeps a small first aid kit. Oliver hopes Felicity hadn’t been lying to him when she’d said she wasn’t injured anywhere else, but the worry still sits in his chest. He’d rather have it and not have to use it than need it and have to leave her in the hotel alone to retrieve it.

As they head towards the doors, he searches the parking lot for a squad car. McKenna had called in for a protective detail on the hotel. No one seems to be under the impression that the shooting tonight was a random act of violence. Even with Oliver there, they’re not going to risk whoever had shot at them coming back to finish things with Felicity. He’s sure there’s a set of officers stationed near Alena’s operating room.

He finds a pair of uniformed officers standing outside of Felicity’s room, even without her inside, and stops to chat with them as she heads into the room. He holds the door open when he realizes Felicity would have allowed it to shut with him on the other side without a second thought. The officers haven’t seen anything out of the ordinary, but he repositions them downstairs in the lobby while he stays upstairs with Felicity for the evening.

When he enters the room, Felicity has shed her coat and is moving around the room collecting clothes.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

“Taking a shower,” she shrugs, like it should be obvious. He knows it’s been a long night, but he also knows she’d showered before he’d come over a few hours ago. Her hair had still been damp as they’d sat together on the plush bed, watching Veronica Sparks fight for her life. A fight she’d lost.

If she needs a shower to feel better, he won’t argue.

“You need sleep, too,” he reminds her as she clutches a bundle of fabric to her chest and crosses the room.

“Thought the whole point was for me not to sleep,” she says dismissively. “Don’t want me slipping into a coma, right?”

She pushes the door to the bathroom shut behind her and Oliver frowns at it. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, but he’s surprised by the hardness of her voice, the nonchalance of her words. Maybe she’s mad at him - could he blame her? He’s mad at himself. Mad that he hadn’t listened to her, hadn’t been there tonight or managed to keep her from going to that lab all together.

Mostly, mad that he doesn’t know how to help her in this moment.

He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed, glancing over at the clock and immediately deciding they shouldn’t expect either him or Felicity at the precinct tomorrow. She needs to sleep - which could mean well into the afternoon - and he needs to know that she’s alright.

Just as the thought sets in, he hears a cry from the other side of the bathroom door. He’s up like a shot, moving to the door to knock on it.

“Felicity?” He calls. “Are you alright?”

There’s a small whimper and the broken sound of his name coming through the wood almost shatters him. He doesn’t wait, pushing the door open. Felicity is sitting on the toilet, her hair pulled up into a bun on top of her head now. The shirt she’d been wearing has taken up residence on the floor, so she’s just in her jeans and a cream-colored bra. He grabs a towel off the rack as he moves towards her, holding it out to her.

It’s only then that he realizes what’s stalled her.

Her gaze is laser focused on her hands, palms up in front of her, and he realizes with a jolt that the blood staining her palms is much worse than he’d realized. It’s not her own, he knows. There’s no wound for it to have spilled from, no central location. It’s Alena’s.

“Here,” he says, holding the towel out to her. She finally takes it, wrapping it around her torso with a quiet thanks. While she covers herself, he returns to the main room for the first aid kit and brings it back into the bathroom with him.

“There’s just,” she says quietly, the words breaking along with his heart. “There’s just so much. I don’t know how-”

“I got you,” he assures her, kneeling in front of her and pulling an alcohol wipe from the small red bag. He takes one of her hands in his own and swipes the stained skin with the wipe, applying pressure over the cracks in her palms where the blood has built up and dried in clumps. She gives a quiet sob and he doesn’t comment.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” He asks as he switches to her other hand, swapping the blood covered alcohol wipe for a fresh one.

Felicity takes a shaky breath and he doesn’t expect her to answer. Much like she’s done each time since they’d met, she defies those expectations.

“I know something isn’t right about Webb,” she begins. “And when I told Dinah and Alena, they seemed to believe me.”

She doesn’t mean it as a dig, he can tell, but it presses against his ribcage anyway. A blunt blade not made to cut but made to break. It digs in between his bones and brands him with the reminder that this is his fault. He’d brushed her off and now he’s here cleaning the blood off her hands and praying she wakes up in the morning.

“I asked about the lab and Alena said she had the address for it, so I thought we should check it out,” she continues, her voice fading as she nears the nastier events of the evening. “I thought if we had Dinah we’d be fine, you know?”

“It wasn’t your fault,” he says easily, easier than he’s ever admitted it about himself, because he recognizes that soft way she says the words, the way her eyes won’t meet his. He knows guilt when he sees it, outweighing the trauma and grief to try and convince her, from within, that this is a disaster of her own making.

She shakes her head, but her eyes meet his for a moment longer than they had before and he thinks, maybe, he can help her out of this hole before she buries herself in it.

“When I got McKenna’s voicemail, I was terrified,” he admits, his gaze focusing on her palm as he continues the repetitive motion of wiping it with the alcohol wipe. The blood is mostly gone now - the remnants will be easily washed away in the shower - but he continues nonetheless. “I hadn’t had service when she called. I didn’t know how long ago it was or what state you were in. I just knew I needed to get to you.”

The hand he’s already cleaned lifts and her fingers move gently through his hair, almost on instinct. More intimate than they’ve allowed themselves to get before. His eyes drift shut with the touch, the movement of his own hand ceasing as it simply cradles hers.

“I should have listened to you, been there,” he says, the words rough with the pain in them. The knowledge that it could be her lying in an operating room right now, fighting for her life.

And what a terrible thing to think. A woman - a longtime colleague and recent friend - _is_ lying in that OR, fighting for her life. The woman who cares for her is pacing in an empty hallway and, if he knows Dinah, rejecting comfort from anyone around her.

But, awfully, unforgivably, all he can think in this moment is that it could have been Felicity and it’s a stroke of luck that it wasn’t.

“It wasn’t your fault, either,” she says, her fingers still moving through the strands of his hair. Pushing them back until her short nails scrape over his scalp, sending small tingles of pleasure through him. He resists the urge to lean into it, beg for more like a pampered pet. “Where were you?”

He frowns at the question, lost in the sensation of her hand, and meets her eyes to convey his confusion.

“You said you didn’t have service when McKenna called,” she elaborates. “Where did you go?”

“I went to see John,” he explains. “I was looking for some forgiveness.”

She frowns. “Did he give it to you?”

“That,” Oliver nods. “And some advice.”

“Good advice, I hope.”

He thinks, briefly, of the advice John had given him. And then, with a sharp jolt in his chest, of the way he’d stared after Lyla when he’d said it. Oliver doesn’t bother thinking after that, he just moves. Pushing up on his knees until he’s straightened up enough to be eye level with Felicity, nearly in between her knees now. She takes a sharp inhale, but her fingers cling to his hair, as best they can, as he presses his lips to hers, encouraging him into the embrace.

He kisses her firmly, her one hand still cradled between his own and trapped between them. It’s not the most graceful position, but he hardly notices the press of their hands to his sternum, distracted by the press of her lips, the glide of her other hand as it moves down his face to cup his jaw.

He pulls back after a moment and they stay like that, barely any space left between them, for another moment.

Quietly, he says, “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Don’t apologize,” she says sharply, cutting him off, and he resists the urge to grin in delight at the way she says it. Like there’s nothing to apologize for. How long he had been longing to kiss her and he lets himself hope, in a stupid way he usually avoids, it won’t be the last time.

Still, he disentangles himself from her and stands.

“You should shower,” he says gently. “And sleep. But, I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Felicity nods up at him and he tosses the used alcohol pads in the trash, moves the first aid kit onto the counter, and leaves her in the bathroom. He wonders, belatedly, if his lips have turned the color of hers.

\---

“I can’t fall back asleep,” Felicity complains from the bed.

She’d come out of the shower and passed out nearly as soon as she’d hit the mattress. It had made Oliver feel better to know that she was able to sleep. Though, maybe he’s spoken too soon. He’d set an alarm for himself, one hour and then he’d wake her and ask her some simple questions to gauge her mental state.

“Maybe it’s adrenaline,” he suggests from his own spot on the couch across the room. It’s not the most comfortable piece of furniture, but it’s better than the armchair by the window. Felicity lets out a huff and he hears the sound of covers rustling.

“It’s not that,” she says. “It’s just, every time I close my eyes I…”

She trails off and Oliver doesn’t force her to finish. He knows what happens when she closes her eyes, is familiar with it.

“Can you just talk to me?” She asks.

“You’re supposed to be getting rest,” he argues, admittedly without much bite.

“No, I’m supposed to be making sure I don’t wake up brain dead,” she says, and he cringes. He’s unsure why she’s always trying to find the most blunt and harsh way to say something when it’s regarding her own well-being. Still, he sits up on the couch so he can look over at her.

“What do you want me to talk about?”

He supposes it’s a good sign if she isn’t dropping off to sleep each time he wakes her. That’s a sign of a concussion, isn’t it? Drowsiness or exhaustion? A medical professional he is not. Maybe he could text Dr. Schwartz.

She’s quiet for a moment before she answers, and he should know by now that spells trouble.

“What happened between you and John Diggle?”

He lets out a sharp breath at the question, surprised by it. Maybe he shouldn’t be, though. He’d brought it up himself a little over an hour ago, right before he’d kissed her in the hotel bathroom. What a romantic he’s turned out to be.

“It’s kind of a long story,” he hedges.

“I don’t think either of us have anywhere better to be,” she points out easily. The covers shift again and in the dark he can see her sit up in bed. She moves and suddenly the room is bathed in soft yellow light from the bedside lamp. He wishes she’d have left it off. Some things are easier in the dark.

“John and I met during my first tour,” he begins, struck by how long ago it would have been, how young he was. How aimless and guilt-ridden. Some things don’t change, he supposes. “It was shortly after my father was killed. John didn’t let me get away with any of my usual shit and it pissed me off, but I learned to respect it. The army was the first thing I’d done that hadn’t come easy for me, which means it didn’t give me the opportunity to slack off. I actually had to _try_. John helped with that. He became one of my closest friends.”

“Okay,” Felicity says slowly, nodding. “So, what happened?”

“I came home and started working with the police,” he goes on. “John was here for a while, but when you get used to a war zone, you forget that it’s not the norm. So, he shipped out for a third tour.”

Felicity lets out a quiet ‘wow’ and Oliver nods in agreement. He’d lucked out. One and done. They haven’t called him back since. He took some damage to his knee – nothing life altering as far as he’s concerned – and it made him more of a risk to send back out.

“While he was gone, I got moved to vice for a short stint,” he explains. “They were looking for a drug dealer working out of the Glades. It was a huge operation, bigger than we were prepared for, but we started pulling in their lower-level grunts. One of them turned out to be John’s brother. I made the arrest, Andy got ten to fifteen years, but there was a fight in the prison. He was killed. John didn’t even know about it until he got back.”

“And he blamed you,” Felicity says, not a question but Oliver nods anyway. “That’s awful, tragic, but… it’s not your fault. You can’t take that on.”

Oliver lets out a soft chuckle at the words. Absolution, just like that. He’s so scared to open himself up to her but she says the words like they’re so simple, the truth. It’s hardly the worst of his sins, though.

He settles back into the couch. “Try to sleep, Felicity.”

\---

“What’s your name?” Oliver asks, kneeling next to Felicity at the bed. She blinks tiredly and for a moment he worries.

Then she says, in what is easily the worst English accent he’s ever heard, “My name is Elizabeth and I’m the bloody queen of England. Don’t you know a queen needs her beauty rest?”

“This is serious,” he reminds her and she lets out an annoyed sigh, flipping onto her back. Her arm comes up to cover her eyes and she grumbles something that sounds like ‘is this how you treat a queen?’ Oliver waits out her dramatics.

“My name is Felicity Smoak,” she says finally, her voice a little clearer now as she wakes up. “I’m a special agent with the FBI. The year is 2018. Your name is Oliver Queen and,” she lifts her arm to cut him a look, “You’re getting on my nerves.”

He chuckles. “I think that’s good enough.”

He moves to stand up, but Felicity’s arm lands on his suddenly and it stalls him. She opens her mouth, looks away from him suddenly, and goes quiet for a moment.

“What is it?” Oliver asks. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, it’s just,” she starts, before letting out a huff and looking back over at him. “It just took me a while to fall back asleep last time. Do you think you could lay with me? Until I fall asleep, I mean.”

He blinks.

“Are you sure?”

Felicity nods and he’s finding himself incapable of denying her, so he stands up and she moves over on the bed, making room for him. He slides in carefully, cautious of the space between them, but Felicity doesn’t bother. She waits until he’s settled and then moves until she’s pressed into his side. His arm comes around her as her palm presses to his chest.

“Better?” He asks. When she nods, he feels the movement against his chest. “Good.”

He doesn’t mean to fall asleep, but he must because he wakes up an hour later to the sound of the alarm on his phone. He fumbles to find it, slipped into a pocket in his jeans and pressed between himself and the bed. Felicity groans as he tries to turn the sound off.

“My name is Felicity Smoak,” she says, before he can ask, burrowing herself further into his embrace. At some point, her hand had moved lower on his abdomen, slipped beneath his shirt, and he can feel the warmth of her palm against his hip bone. “I’m a special agent with the FBI. The year is 2018. It is, presumably, stupid early on a Wednesday morning.”

“It’s actually more like late Wednesday morning,” he says, cutting a glance to where the thick curtains block out nearly all of the sunlight. Rays peak at the edges of the curtains, but don’t make it far into the room. “But otherwise, you’re good.”

She hums in response, her fingers moving absently over his skin. Oliver fights back a shiver at the touch and reminds himself she’s still half asleep, she doesn’t realize what she’s doing to him. It continues for a bit and he thinks she’s falling back asleep. Until her fingers begin to trace a familiar line over his skin and he realizes what she’s found there.

“How’d you get this?” She asks, referring to the line of scar tissue that runs down his stomach towards his hip. She must feel the way his body tenses, because she retracts her hand. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have–”

“Don’t apologize,” he says gently, echoing her earlier words. “I was in a car accident. About ten years ago.”

“Oh,” she says, leadingly. And then, “Why do you say that like it was more than just a car accident?”

“Do you remember how I told you Captain Lance’s youngest daughter died in a car accident?” He asks, feels her nod again. “It was the same one.”

“Was it your fault?” She presses and he stews on the question for a moment. Harder to answer than he’d like it to be.

“No,” he admits finally, knows it’s the truth even if it feels like a lie. “Not really. I was driving, but it was the other driver’s fault. They blew a red light and t-boned us. But Sara wouldn’t have been in the car, wouldn’t have even been in town, if it weren’t for me.”

“How do you figure?” She asks. Her hand is in a much safer position now, over the material of his t-shirt rather than stroking over his naked skin. Still, she paints patterns over him with the pads of her fingers.

“Because we were sleeping together,” he lets out, the words a painful rush even after all these years. “While I was still seeing her sister. It was… messy and complicated. Or maybe we just imagined it was to make ourselves feel better. But, either way, her parents didn’t even know she was in town until the hospital called.”

Felicity is quiet for a long moment, her fingers suddenly still, and Oliver holds his breath. The fear comes back from earlier, but in a new way this time. A fear of losing her before he’s had a chance to have her, over a stupid choice from his past that he’s spent the last decade suffocating under. It’s his penance, he knows. He doesn’t deserve Felicity or absolution.

But, god damn, if he doesn’t want her so bad it aches like a fresh bruise all through him, longing for her.

Her fingers begin moving again, seeking out the faded line of scar tissue that runs down his torso, over his shirt this time. She finds it and traces it as if she already has him memorized. Knows the places where he’s too sharp to hold, too fragile to squeeze too tight.  The shadows that linger in his vision, remind him of things he can’t come back from. Things he’s always believed there’s no salvation for.

“Does it still hurt?” She asks and, even as her fingers stroke the scar, he knows it’s not what she means.

“Yeah,” he admits. “All the time.”

She presses her body tighter against his, balls her fingers in the fabric of his t-shirt and holds fast. He responds in kind, turning into her just slightly and, for the moments they lay there before he falls asleep, he entertains the possibility that the salvation he’s never thought possible could exist.

\---

Oliver doesn’t think either of them have allowed themselves this much of a break since this whole thing started. It’s certainly more sleep than he’s gotten in weeks. But, this time, when he wakes up, he knows there won’t be any falling back asleep. He’s sure it’s well into the afternoon now, the light strong enough to break through the curtains and color the bland hotel room in soft light.

Felicity is still wrapped up in him. Or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, one of her legs has tangled itself between his own and her hand has found the bare skin of his stomach once more. His own arm is wrapped beneath her, around her waist, and he knows when they inevitably move he’ll have lost all feeling in it.

Felicity is burrowed into him. Draped over half of his body with her face in the crook of his neck. Her hair tickles his chin, catches the sunlight managing to make it into the room and dancing at the edge of his vision. He’s loathe to wake her.

She shifts, such a small movement he wouldn’t feel it if they weren’t pressed together from head to toe. And the first time, when her lips press against the sensitive skin of his neck, he thinks it’s an accident. Then, the hand on his stomach increases its pressure as she uses it as leverage, lifting herself just enough to allow for a better angle as she kisses his neck this time. More deliberate, definitely a pucker. His fingers tighten on her hip with the feel of it.

They both know the other is awake.

She pauses, just for a second, and then kisses him again. A little further up his neck this time, closer to his ear. If he weren’t so tense, he might shiver under her ministrations. He should stop her, she could be in shock or concussed.

He really doesn’t want to stop her.

Against his better judgement, his grip on her hip tightens further as he shifts his arm enough to bring her closer, to urge her further into his embrace. She kisses him again, more confident now, her mouth open just enough. Enough that, when her tongue moves against his skin, just a touch as she kisses him, it nearly breaks him.

“Felicity,” he says, finally, a warning, an apology. A prayer. “We really shouldn’t…”

“Why not?” She asks, undeterred because the protest sounds false even to his own ears. She doesn’t kiss him again, but she doesn't move away either. She stays there, her lips just barely pressed to his skin, her fingers stroking the scar on his stomach.

Oliver’s always thought himself a stronger man than this. But he’d never had to factor in Felicity Smoak before.

“You had a long night,” he tries, even as his eyes drift shut, as he memorizes the way she feels against him. “I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret just because–”

“I’m fine,” she sighs, finally pulling away from him. He feels like he can breathe again, but it’s the most unpleasant sensation he’s ever felt. Oliver expects this to be it. She’s remembered herself, remembered the trauma she’s just gone through and–

She pulls her leg from between his, only to hook it over his hip instead. And then Felicity pulls herself on top of him, sitting upright as she straddles his hips, backlit by the few rays of sun. An angel of sin, luring him to his doom.

He thinks he’d happily go to hell with her.

“My name is Felicity Smoak,” she says and he frowns, until she continues and he realizes what she’s doing. “I’m a special agent with the FBI. The year is 2018.”

“Okay,” he nods. “I get it, but you’re–”

She cuts him off again, poking him in the chest with her index finger and continuing on.

“You are Oliver Queen,” she says, slower this time. A little less confident. “And last night you kissed me. And I’m not sure what that means for us moving forward but, right now, I would really like you to do it again.”

Oliver hesitates only another moment before, fallen asleep arm and all, he sits up enough to wrap his arms around her and pull her down to him. And then, for the second time in twelve hours, he’s kissing Felicity Smoak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will say, I'm hoping to have the next chapter done by the end of this week (optimistically). My goal is to get this fic finished and posted by the end of the year. We'll see. Either way, I have a very clear idea of how I want it to end in my head (something that had gotten lost during the summer), so I'm hoping to keep myself motivated!


	16. Chapter Fifteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity find themselves in a compromising position. All is not what it seems with Dr. Webb's incarceration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I told you that me getting this finished by the end of the week was optimistic. BUT, only 8 days between updates? Not too shabby, I'd say. Anyway, this chapter was... fun... ; )
> 
> Enjoy!

Felicity isn’t totally sure where her sudden bravery had come from. Maybe it was the near-death experience. Or the kiss last night that couldn’t have turned to more in her state. Mostly, she figures, it’s just waking up next to Oliver, knowing he’d spent his night – and half of his day – laying with her, just to make sure she was safe.

 

She’d woken up, wrapped in his embrace, and just laid there for a while. Not falling back to sleep, but not really awake. And she’d thought about the way he’d kissed her, how he’d opened up to her in the darkness of the hotel room. She’s been trying to figure him out since she’d gotten to Starling, but maybe the problem is that Oliver doesn’t quite have himself figured out yet.

 

So much of his past weighs on his shoulders and, still, she knows she’s only seen glimpses of it. But it’s not his past she wants to know. It’s him. All of him, not just in a professional way.

 

When she’d felt him wake up, could feel the change in his breathing and the way he stretched his legs just a touch, she kissed him. Well, not his lips, but his neck. Because it was right there and calling to her and she just, she needed to do  _ something _ . Besides, when she’d done it again, he let her. And he kept letting her.

 

Then, suddenly – because, she’s pretty sure she blacked out for a second there or something –, she was straddling him and basically begging him to kiss her again. It’d be pathetic if he hadn’t been staring up at her like she was some ethereal being. Or maybe that was just the sunlight coming in behind her.

 

When he’d sat up to kiss her, arms coming around her and his palms meeting at her spine, dragging down her back and pulling at her tank top, her hand had already been halfway up his shirt. So the most logical move was just to remove it and–

 

She  _ really _ did not pay enough attention to shirtless Oliver the first time she’d seen him. It takes all of her pride and self-control to keep herself from salivating over his abs. Oliver, undeterred by his wardrobe change, slips his fingers beneath her chin and guides her mouth back to his. Felicity’s grateful for his continued ability to concentrate while her mind is reeling to keep up.

 

She bites down on his lower lip, tugging just a bit, and Oliver groans. His hips shift against hers and, through his rough jeans she can feel her affect on him. Which makes it all the more surprising when he pulls back, one hand on her arm holding her away from him as her mouth chases his on instinct. He leans back, breathing coming in measured breaths and she envies that control.

 

Though, she really wishes he weren’t choosing now to utilize it.

 

“Wait, wait,” he says, his eyes squeezing shut. His hands are stiff and tense against her, a side effect of that control. “Are you sure? Because I just… I don’t know if we can come back from this and I need you to be sure.”

 

“Oliver,” she says, voice low but firm. It prompts him to open his eyes, look up at her where she sits slightly above him, a benefit of her straddling his lap. His pupils are wide and his chest moves in an anxious rhythm with his heartbeat.

 

Felicity sits back from him, enough to cross both arms over her stomach and pull the hem of her tank top up over her head. It’s a clumsy move she wishes she’d thought out as soon as one of the thin straps catches in her tangled hair, but Oliver doesn’t seem to mind. His eyes roam over her torso instead, to all the exposed skin left bare to the stale hotel air.

 

“Is that sure enough for you?” She asks and he nods, a little dumbly, which makes her grin. Oliver pulls her back to him, kissing her exposed chest now instead and that wipes the grin off her face. Felicity arches against him, her nails dragging through his hair.

 

His hands skim over her spine, fingers dancing at the edge of her pajama pants, as his mouth moves lower. He takes his time, exploring her skin, but Felicity is impatient. They’ve been dancing at the edge of this for so long, it feels like. She’s done waiting.

 

“Oliver,” she sighs, and his fingertips press into her skin. He nips at the skin of her breast and she bites down an embarrassing sound. She pulls his mouth from her chest, encourages it back to her own as she moves her hips against his.

 

“Fuck,” he groans and the curse tastes like honey in her mouth. “Fuck, Felicity.”

 

She hums in response, peppering kisses along the edge of his jaw. His scruff is rough against her skin, but the scrape of it is delicious. His hands press more firmly against her back and suddenly he’s lifting her, shifting their positions so she’s splayed on the bed underneath him. His chest presses against hers for a moment as he kisses the spot just beneath her jaw.

 

And then he moves lower, slowly trailing his mouth down her body until he reaches her belly button. He stops, his fingers dancing at the hem of her sweatpants and she looks down to watch him, nodding at the question she finds in his eyes. He pulls her sweatpants down enough to place another kiss where the elastic had sat. A little further, and a kiss at the edge of her underwear. He inches the garment down slowly, the anticipation nearly painful as he presses his lips to each space of newly uncovered skin. Felicity squirms beneath him, resists the urge to hurry him along.

 

She squeezes her eyes shut as he continues down her legs and then suddenly he’s gone. The fabric covering her legs go with him, leaving her skin exposed to the open air of the room. His hands, his lips have disappeared. It’s just her and her very basic underwear and the suddenly cold air.

 

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs suddenly, from near her feet, and she lets out a surprised laugh.

 

She wonders if it’s true. If there isn’t still blood crusted in her nail beds, whether the bandage on her forehead matches her complexion. This isn’t exactly what she’d been expecting when she’d picked out her underwear last night. Still, he says it like he means it and her stomach twists.

 

Her eyes find his and she frowns at what she sees on his face. Fear, she thinks, though it seems ridiculous. She sits up, wrapping her arm over her chest and feeling suddenly self-conscious.

 

“Oliver?” She asks, quietly, oddly aware of how many times she’s said his name this morning.

 

“Sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. It’s not you, I just-”

 

“God, if you are about to reject me,” she bites, cutting him off and tightening her arm over her chest. “At least come up with something more original.”

 

“I’m not,” he says, but her attitude has brought some level of humor to the conversation and his lips turn up in amusement. “I’m not rejecting you.”

 

“Then,” she asks, slowly, afraid of the answer. “What are you doing?”

 

“I hurt people, Felicity, it’s kind of my specialty,” he explains. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

 

She frowns, pulling her legs under her and easing towards him on the mattress. If the hotel bed were any softer, the movement would be much more awkward. Still covering herself out of nerves, she lets her free hand drift over his shoulder, down his chest. This time, it’s Oliver whose eyes drift shut with the touch.

 

“If you don’t want to hurt me,” she says softly, her hand coming back up to cup his cheek, the pad of her thumb stroking over the rough hair on his jaw. “Then, don’t.”

 

Eyes still closed, his head tilts just so, pressing his jaw further into her palm, and then he surges forward to capture her mouth with his. Any pretense he had held about taking his time seems to disappear. Felicity fingers move to the fly of his jeans, the material stiff from a night spent sleeping in them. She undoes the button, but stops to let her fingers toy at the hem of his boxers, delights in the way his stomach muscles move in response.

 

She angles him with a gentle push and gets him to lay back on the bed where he had left her. Felicity is the one to explore now, her hands moving over his chest, his stomach, before finishing her work with the fly of his pants. She doesn’t have the same patience as him, dragging the waistband of his boxers down his hips along with his jeans.

 

He lets out a short breath as she frees him from the fabric and it takes all of her strength not to get distracted, to finish removing his pants the way he’d done for her. She’s not sure if it’s a testament to the lack of dick in her life lately or just a testament to Oliver’s above average, well, everything. But between the abs and the way he’s watching her and the size of him, it’s a miracle she keeps herself from drooling over him.

 

Once he’s fully naked underneath her, something she is absolutely delighting in, she moves back up his body. Hovering over him, Oliver arches up in an attempt to reach her mouth, but Felicity wraps her hand around him and the touch makes him groan. Unable to help herself, Felicity presses down to kiss him, swallowing the sound as best she can. Her palm moves along the length of him, slow strokes meant to tease him the way his kisses had done for her.

 

Not one to sit by idly, Oliver’s hands glide down her back again. They dip lower this time, pushing her own underwear down the curve of her ass. Rough, warm fingers glide over the smooth skin beneath the cotton garment and Felicity squirms against him. The movement makes her fingers tighten around him and his own dig into her ass.

 

“Felicity,” he moans, rough and low. The sound makes her insides squirm and heat pools low in her belly. His mouth moves from hers, brushing over the shell of her ear instead. His beard tickles the sensitive skin there and she shivers.

 

“I need to be inside you,” he growls and she freezes, surprised by the bluntness of his words. “Now.”

 

“God,” she groans, pulling away from him. He seems startled by the move, but she only pulls far enough away to shimmy out of her underwear. “You can’t just look like  _ you _ and go around saying stuff like  _ that _ so casually. Do you want to give a girl a complex?”

 

He laughs at her, sitting up enough to help her pull her underwear from where they’ve caught on one of her ankles and tossing them aside. His hands come around her again, his fingers skimming up her spine.

 

“Is that a no?” He asks, his mouth dangerously close to hers. He’s teasing her, she knows, but she doesn’t care to play along right now. Instead, she shifts her hips forwards, edging up until they press against his own, the safety of fabric between them gone now.

 

“I don’t suppose this hotel offers complimentary condoms,” she says, poking him in the chest and leaning forward to nip at his lower lip. He gets lost for a moment, kissing her, but seems to take her question in.

 

“Wait,” he says, pulling back. “Are you serious? Do you not have something here?”

 

“It’s a work trip, Oliver,” she frowns. “I promise you, this isn’t the norm for me on these things.”

 

“Okay, okay,” he says slowly, pulling his hands away from her to hold them up in a calming gesture. “Just, check my wallet, okay? It’s by the couch.”

 

She gives him a dark look at the orders, but clumsily slips off of him to search for his discarded wallet. He must have taken it out last night when he’d intended to sleep on the couch. She finds it on the end table next to the arm of the couch. Holding it up triumphantly, she spins for him to see. In her search, she’d forgotten they’d both been absolutely naked, but Oliver’s face, and the smirk she finds there as he watches her, reminds her.

 

“Enjoying the show?” She asks, shooting him a look.

 

“Yes,” he says easily, “I am, actually.”

 

Felicity feigns exasperation, rolling her eyes at him, but her skin warms nonetheless. She wonders if a blush colors her cheeks, if he can track how far down it goes. She takes her time picking through his wallet in search of the foil packet, feeling his gaze on her, shooting furtive looks of her own to where he lays on the bed.

 

And when it’s becoming ridiculous, when she’s losing her ability to stand in front of him without rubbing her thighs together, searching for friction. Then, she pulls the foil square from within his wallet – it really hadn’t taken long to find, but he doesn’t need to know that – and returns to him on the bed. 

 

He reaches for it, like he expects her to hand it over and take care of everything. Instead, she tosses one leg over his lap, straddling his thighs, and catches the corner of the packet between her teeth. The foil tears and Oliver’s hands land on her hips. She doesn’t miss the way his chest rises and falls, quick with his breathing, and then hitches as she rolls the condom over him.

 

She raises up onto her knees, uses his shoulders as leverage. Oliver’s gaze stays with hers as she hovers over him, stretches the moment out just a touch longer. He reaches up, one hand moving from her hip to the back of her head, and encourages her mouth down to his. His tongue slides over her mouth as she settles down, one hand guiding him inside of her. They both catch their breath for a moment, frozen as they adjust to the new feeling.

 

“What you had in mind?” She breathes, unable to help the quip as their mouths hover. Not kissing, barely touching, but so close she feels his breath puff against her lips.

 

“So much better,” he sighs and she nods in agreement. Then she shifts her hips, just enough to push him a little deeper, to encourage him to move with her. He follows her lead, letting her hips set the pace as she rocks against him. 

 

Oliver meets her movements, his hips pressing into hers as she moves against him. Her hands on his shoulders give her leverage, her nails pressing into his skin. She fears she may hurt him, but he pulls her mouth back to his again and any concern drifts from her mind.

 

For the first time in a while, Felicity isn’t thinking about a murderer or a case. Her mind is blissfully blank, the spaces filled instead with the way Oliver tastes, the scratch of his beard over the sensitive skin of her mouth, the way he feels pressing into her, filling her. He slips one hand down between them, rubs tantalizing circles against her clit.

 

When she comes apart for him, it’s almost a surprise, sneaking up on her. Something like the way Oliver himself had. Unexpected, but welcome. She trembles against him and his hand moves over her, soothing her. His fingers work her through the orgasm, helping her reach every bit of bliss she can get from it. She cries out, pulling his mouth to hers and biting down on his lip. He groans and she swears the sound has the most amazing taste.

 

“Oh my, God, Oliver,” she breathes, once the orgasm has crested and she can breathe again. Oliver licks into her mouth, kissing her reverently as his hips continue to work, chasing his own release. She drags her fingers through his hair and moves her own hips, grinding down against him and trying to offer him a new angle.

 

His fingers tighten on her back, pull her tighter against him as he nears the edge. She moves her mouth from his, dragging it over the shell of his ear instead. She nips at his earlobe, moves lower to suck gently on his neck. He moans against her, the sound close to her ear. It vibrates up through his chest and rattles her own.

 

He kisses her when he comes, pulling her mouth back to his. It’s sloppy and awkward as he gasps with his own orgasm, but she doesn’t move. Instead, she clings tighter to him, wraps her fingers in the hair at the back of his head.

 

When Oliver pants her name, repetitive like a prayer, she silences him with a gentler kiss.

 

\---

 

Oliver takes a shower in her hotel room, which is really fruitless because he doesn’t have fresh clothes, but Felicity joins him, which is also kind of dumb because it means they spend too long beneath the spray. By the time Felicity is finished washing her hair, and Oliver has left her to it, the water has turned tepid.

 

When she comes out in a towel, the pretense of modesty lost with the way he’s become familiar with the curves and edges of her, Oliver is dressed again. She almost hates the sight but he stops when he spots her, his leather jacket clutched in his hand.

 

“Heading out?” She asks, crossing one ankle behind the other and holding the towel wrapped fast around her chest.

 

“I need to head to the precinct so we can finish dealing with Webb,” he explains.

 

“You don’t still think he’s our guy,” she comments, frowning at him. Oliver shakes his head in the negative, pulling his jacket over his shoulders and stepping towards her.

 

“Whether he’s our guy or not,” he says. “He still killed Veronica.”

 

Felicity nods and Oliver squints at her for a second before closing the distance to place his hands on her hips over the rough fabric of the cheap hotel towel.

 

“Dinah called,” he says and, at the reminder of Alena, she perks up. Lifting up on her toes slightly, she waits for his words. “Alena’s awake.”

 

“I should go see her,” she says and he nods in agreement.

 

“Do me a favor?” He requests and she raises an eyebrow. “Stick with the protective detail, alright? Just until we figure out if you were a target or not. If you’re not with me, I want to know that you’re not in danger.”

 

“I can do that,” she agrees. Oliver seems surprised and, maybe he should be. She’s fought him about nearly everything since they met. But she’s not going to pretend that last night didn’t affect her. If that means she’ll have a cop trailing after her for the day, then so be it. She’d rather be alive and mildly inconvenienced than any of the alternatives.

 

“Thank you,” he says sincerely and she nods, warmed by his concern for her wellbeing.

 

Oliver kisses her and she loses herself for a second, her hands coming up to link together behind his head. She only mildly registers the way the motion makes her towel fall, held to her body only by Oliver’s hands at her hips now. When he pulls back from the kiss, he groans.

 

“You know, you are making it very difficult to leave,” he grumbles and she laughs.

 

“Sorry,” she says, not feeling it. She presses up further on her toes, chasing his mouth and he doesn’t hesitate to let her pull him in for more. Still, she only derails him for another minute or so.

 

\---

 

Felicity does let the officer Oliver had assigned follow her through the corridors of the hospital, but she thinks about what Oliver had mentioned about Dinah being unsure of the trustworthiness of the department. So, she leaves her in the hall when she goes into Alena’s room. There’s already another two cops standing outside in uniform, keeping watch over the hospital room, but Felicity doesn’t spot Dinah.

 

“Hey,” Alena greets as Felicity slips through the door. She gives the words a few extra Y’s and her cheery state makes Felicity pause for a moment. She narrows her eyes at her.

 

“How many painkillers are you on?” She asks, making her way to Alena’s bedside.

 

“Enough,” she giggles in response. “You want some?”

 

“I think I’m good,” Felicity laughs. She settles down into the chair pulled up next to Alena’s bedside. She imagines it had been Dinah’s roost as she waited for her to wake up. “How are you feeling?”

 

“Not much of anything at the moment,” Alena admits. “Courtesy of those painkillers.”

 

Felicity nods, chewing on the corner of her mouth. She watches Alena for a moment, pale and glossy-eyed. She’s hooked up to an IV on one side and a screen monitors her heart rate and blood pressure on the other. It all seems steady, a contrast to the chaos it had been when they’d gotten her to the hospital last night.

 

A pang of guilt runs through her chest, tight and icy. She should have been here last night, waiting to hear news on Alena’s condition. Instead, she’d been screwing around with Oliver. If it weren’t for her, Alena wouldn’t even be sitting in this hospital bed, listening to the steady beeping of her own heartbeat.

 

“Alena, I’m so sorry,” she says in a rush. “I shouldn’t have convinced you to come with me to check out Webb’s lab. If I had just listened to Oliver and waited, or just gone by myself, this never would have happened.”

 

“Stop,” Alena groans, her head falling back against the pillows behind her. “God, between you and Dinah, there’s more guilt in this room than there is oxygen.”

 

“What?”

 

“Dinah was in here making her own apologies, too,” Alena explains, rolling her eyes. “As if either of you could have stopped me from coming along last night. I wanted to be a part of it, get to do some real investigating. And, look, I’m fine, okay? Or, I will be in a few days. So, stop blaming yourself. Instead, let's find the son of a bitch who shot at us and blame him.”

 

Felicity considers this, nodding. Alena’s right. Guilt and regret won’t get them anywhere. They need to focus on finding the people responsible for what’s been happening in Starling City. And then, they need to get justice for the people they’ve hurt.

 

And if the final step to all of that is Felicity catching a direct flight back to D.C. then, well, she’s just going to ignore that reality for the moment.

 

“So,” she says slowly, a sly smile spreading across her features. Alena raises an eyebrow at her. “You didn’t tell me about you and Dinah.”

 

“Well, you know,” Alena shrugs, suddenly looking uncomfortable. She picks at the blanket covering her lap. “We’re just kind of seeing each other sometimes. I don’t know, I haven’t really been sure if it’s like  _ a thing _ or what. So, I’ve just been trying to go with the flow.”

 

“I saw how she reacted to you getting hurt last night,” Felicity says. “It shook her. Bad. Trust me, it’s definitely  _ a thing _ .”

 

“Yeah,” Alena says quietly, though she doesn’t seem terribly reassured. Felicity waits for her to continue. “It’s just hard, you know? Trying to date in these jobs. There’s always some kind of emergency. And, God, we work in the same department! I can’t imagine how it’d be for you and Oliver or something like that, you know? I figure that’s why you guys are keeping your distance, right?”

 

Felicity goes tense.

 

“Uh, yeah,” she nods, looking away from her. “Yeah, something like that.”

 

Suddenly unable to hold Alena’s gaze, she glances around the room instead. There are a few balloon arrays and flower arrangements, most likely from people in the department. Although, Felicity figures Alena must have some friends outside of work, or family perhaps. Maybe not, though, considering she’d been sitting here alone before Felicity had slipped in.

 

God, it seems like everyone in Starling City is so painfully lonely. Is it something in the water?

 

She spots something between two of the floral displays on the windowsill. A small, white card with bubble letters encourages Alena to ‘get well soon’, but it’s the small hunk of black plastic that sits in front of it that pulls Felicity’s attention.

 

She pushes out of the chair and rounds Alena’s bed to reach the windowsill, picking the device up and turning it over in her hands. A small, untidy sketch of a ghost is etched into the plastic on one side.

 

“Alena, do you know what this is?” She asks, turning and holding it up for her to see. Alena squints at it, but shakes her head. “Do you know who brought it?”

 

“I’ve been kind of in and out of it,” Alena admits, frowning. “I’ve only actually seen a few of the people who’ve come in.”

 

Felicity turns the device over in her hands again, looking for anything else etched into its surface. It gives nothing, so she turns back to the windowsill. Carefully, she picks up the card and flips it open.

 

_ Come find me _ , is scrawled in neat handwriting, dark red ink against the white cardstock. Holding it by its edges, she sets the card down in its spot and spins to examine the rest of the displays and gifts. None of them seem immediately sinister, but still she grips the device in her hand and moves to the door, opening it wide to address one of the police officers stationed outside.

 

“Who have you let into her room?” She asks urgently. He seems startled by the inquiry and falters for a moment.

 

“Just a few people,” he shrugs. “People from the department. Detective Drake. Oh and, uh, her father came by while she was sleeping.”

 

“Father?” Alena echoes and Felicity spins to find her face scrunched in confusion. “No, my dad lives in Minnesota. I haven’t talked to him since I was in college, I don’t even think he knows where I work now.”

 

“You need to call for a CSI team to come down here and take every single one of these gifts,” Felicity directs. “They all need to be dusted for prints and searched.”

 

The officers seem surprised by her directness, but she thinks the knowledge that they’d let someone lie their way into Alena’s room makes them follow her orders.

 

\---

 

Oliver calls while she’s overseeing the CSI team. Alena seems spooked, but otherwise calm. Felicity isn’t sure if the painkillers are keeping her from realizing the gravity of the situation, or if she’s better in a crisis than she would have expected.

 

“Hey, I heard you called a forensics team to the hospital,” Oliver says when she answers the phone. There’s wind behind him and she wonders if he’s standing outside of the precinct or somewhere else. “Is everything alright?”

 

“Not exactly,” she says quietly, slipping out of the hospital room to the hallway. People are still milling about, but when she tucks herself into a corner, it feels a little more private. “I think our guy may have dropped by her hospital room while she was sleeping.”

 

“What?” Oliver bites and Felicity can tell he’s trying to keep his reaction contained. In mixed company, then. “Is she alright?”

 

“Yeah, I think the painkillers are keeping her sedated,” she says. “I don’t think he wanted to hurt her, though. Not anymore than he already had, anyway.”

 

“So, then, what did he want?” Oliver asks. Felicity doesn’t think he expects her to have an answer, but she thinks of the message written inside of the card in the hospital room, feels the weight of the plastic in her pocket.

 

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “How are things going on your end?”

 

“Not much better,” he admits, which doesn’t make Felicity feel great. “I was gonna call you before I heard about the crime scene at the hospital. Webb killed himself in his holding cell this morning.”

 

“What?” She practically shouts, glancing around the hallway to see if she’s drawn any eyes. “How could that happen?”

 

“We’re not sure yet,” Oliver sighs. “We’ve been dealing with the fall out since I got here, but Schwartz should be done with the autopsy by now. Can you meet me there?”

 

“Yeah,” she says, nodding to herself. “Let me make sure Alena’s room is secure and I’ll head over. I’m gonna leave my police detail with her.”

 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” He asks.

 

“I’ll be safer with you, right?” She shrugs. “Besides, I want to make sure she’s with someone we can trust. And if you trust her, then so do I.”

 

“Okay,” he says and she’s glad she doesn’t have to convince him to trust her judgement. “I’ll see you at the M.E.’s office.”

 

She hangs up with him and heads back down the hall, passing forensic techs as they head out of Alena’s room. Everything is being handled carefully, bagged, and documented. It’s the proper process for evidence, to make a note of every hand that each item passes through. A process which Felicity is flagrantly disregarding by keeping the small device in her coat pocket rather than a secure evidence bag.

 

She grabs the officer Oliver had assigned her on her way into the hospital room.

 

“Alena,” she says gently, coming to her bedside. “I have to go meet Oliver about Webb, alright? But Officer Cortez is going to stay in the room with you from now on until we can get you moved somewhere more secure.”

 

Alena nods, but Felicity can see the realization of what could have happened to her is starting to set in. She reaches over, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly.

 

“You’re going to be fine,” she says. “I promise.”

 

Alena nods again and Felicity catches Cortez’s eye. She leads her to the corner of the room near the door, out of the way of the movement of the forensics team.

 

“Detective Queen assigned me to you,” Cortez reminds her.

 

“I know, but he agrees that Alena’s safety is more important than mine right now,” she says, watching Alena in her bed. She seems even paler somehow, her arms wrapped tightly over her chest. She hates to leave her, but she can’t stay in the hospital for the rest of the day. “I need you to stay at her bedside, okay? I don’t want her left alone in the room for even a second.”

 

“I get that,” Cortez says nodding, but she squints at Felicity. “But if whoever did this were going to try to finish her off, wouldn’t they have done it already?”

 

Felicity is inclined to agree, but their killer is becoming unpredictable. If he wants to be caught, and he isn’t being caught, he might do something more extreme. And if he thinks he can get into Alena’s room again, he might target her.

 

“Let’s just not give him the opportunity again, alright?” She suggests and Cortez nods.

 

Felicity waits until the forensics team has finished their work before she leaves to meet Oliver at the M.E.’s office. She spots his car in the parking lot and pulls her borrowed squad car in next to it. He’s in the driver’s seat still and looks up at the motion of her car pulling up next to his. He waves to her before motioning for her to join him.

 

She’s only just slipped into the passenger seat of his car and pulled the door shut when he cups her jaw and kisses her. Her blood rushes, shocked by the suddenness of the movement, and she kisses him back for a moment before pulling away.

 

“That’s not why we’re here,” she chasticises.

 

“This morning you asked me to kiss you,” he reminds her and she feels her cheeks heat at the reminder.  _ Asked _ is a nice way to put it, she’d felt like an idiot for practically begging him to kiss her as she’d straddled his lap. “I’m just trying to deliver.”

 

She rolls her eyes at him, if only to cover her nerves. The other part of her request this morning had been that she didn’t know what this all meant for them and, really, she still doesn’t. Alena had reminded her of that.

 

It’s not a topic she’s ready to broach, so she changes the subject.

 

“Oliver, the bodies are piling up,” she reminds him.

 

“I know,” he nods, bringing his hands back to himself. Felicity misses the touch immediately, but reminds herself they need to keep their heads clear. “But, right now, we have no reason to believe Webb’s death wasn’t just what it looked like. A suicide.”

 

“No reason other than nothing about this case being what it seems, you mean,” she grumbles, slouching a little in the seat.

 

“We’re gonna figure it out,” he assures her. Felicity bites down on her lip, stewing on the ways things have changed just in the past twenty-four hours. Before she’d gotten the email with the video of Webb, she’d talked to Agent Watson. The reminder hits like a wave of icy water.

 

“Watson gave me until the end of the week to solve this,” she tells him. “And then she’s making me head back to D.C.”

 

“Oh,” Oliver says.

 

“And, she’s almost definitely going to shorten that time frame when she inevitably hears about the shooting,” she adds.

 

“So, we solve it before she finds out,” he shrugs. His nonchalance about the information sends a sharp pain through her chest.

 

“That’s optimistic,” she comments, frowning at him. Oliver stares straight ahead, not turning to acknowledge her.

 

“We’ll find the person who’s behind this,” he says, simply. Like it’ll be easy. “And then you can go home.”

 

“Right,” she says quietly and then the car goes silent. Felicity watches Oliver’s profile for another moment before turning and looking forward as well. The parking lot is edged with meticulously cut bushes. A bird startles and flies from inside one to perch atop the bush next to it.

 

Suddenly, Felicity feels Oliver’s eyes on her. She doesn’t want to give in and meet his eye. When she doesn’t, he clears his throat and turns the car off.

 

“We should head inside,” he suggests and Felicity nods silently, pushing the door open and slipping out before he can say anything more.

 

\---

 

“You two took your time,” Schwartz says in lieu of a greeting. Felicity doesn’t think she’s ever heard her sound actually annoyed before.

 

“Sorry, it’s my fault,” she says, before the tension from the car can follow her and Oliver into the examination room. “There was a bit of a crisis at the hospital.”

 

“I heard about what happened last night,” Schwartz nods, her tone softening as she gives Felicity a onceover. “How are you doing?”

 

“I’m fine,” she says easily, motioning to the body on the table behind Schwartz. “Better than him, anyway. Do you have something for us?”

 

“You know, my job used to be somewhat mundane before you got to town, Agent Smoak,” she says, turning to cross the room to reach the table. She rounds it to the other side of the body, grabbing a fresh pair of gloves from a box on the counter. Oliver and Felicity step up to the examination table where Webb lies mostly bare for them to see.

 

Her stomach turns at the sutures in his chest, the blue tinge to his skin, the places where the blood vessels in his eyes gave way during his asphyxiation.

 

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Mine, too.”

 

“What did you find, Dr. Schwartz?” Oliver asks, directly to the point. Felicity takes note of the way his mood has dropped from this morning. In a small, petty way, she hopes it has something to do with the reminder of her departure. It’d be nice to know she couldn’t just disappear tomorrow without him noticing.

 

“Well, he definitely asphyxiated,” she comments. “But I don’t think by his own choice.”

 

“Why’s that?” Oliver asks.

 

“Well, for one, the sheet he was hung with wasn’t what strangled him,” she says. She tilts Webb’s head for them, exposing the side of his neck. “Perimortem bruising. I’ve seen my fair share of stranglings and those were definitely made by hands. You can see where the pressure was applied to the throat with the fingers. That sheet wouldn’t have left such uneven bruising.”

 

“So,” Felicity says slowly, looking over at Oliver. “Not a suicide then.”

 

“My official report will call it a homicide,” Schwartz nods.

 

Oliver is staring down at Webb on the table and Felicity can see the wheels turning in his head.

 

“What if it didn’t?” He asks.

 

“I’m sorry?” Schwartz frowns.

 

“I’m not asking you to lie,” he says. “I’m just suggesting that maybe we withhold the official manner of death from everyone except the people currently in this room…”

 

“That sounds a lot like lying,” Felicity says. She finds herself unable to look away from Webb on the table, but feels that if she stares at him any longer, she may never be able to clean the image from her mind. She squeezes her eyes shut and presses the pads of her fingers against them, slipping beneath the lenses of her glasses.

 

“Oliver,” Dr. Schwartz says and Felicity isn’t sure she’s ever heard the woman call him by his first name. When she looks back up, Schwartz is looking at Oliver with a serious look, but her stature has changed. Nervousness. “We have trusted each other to do our respective jobs well and appropriately for years. So, I usually follow your suggestions and hunches with little question. But this? Withholding information and evidence from the proper channels? This could compromise my integrity.”

 

“It’s not like we don’t withhold things relating to investigations on the regular,” Oliver argues.

 

“‘We’ being the whole department, not the M.E., an outside investigator, and a single detective,” she says. “And those orders typically come from higher up than you. So, I’m not saying I can’t do you this favor, for a short time, but I’m going to need to ask this time; Why?”

 

Oliver shares a look with Felicity. She gives a reassuring nod and he sighs.

 

“We have concerns about the integrity of the department,” he explains, a little vaguely. When Schwartz gives him a look that says as much, he continues, “Dirty cops. It’s one thing for raids to come up empty because a drug ring or mob boss was tipped off. But, this…”

 

“A high priority prisoner gets left alone long enough to end up murdered in a holding cell,” Schwartz nods. “I get it.”

 

“If we announce that we know it was a murder,” Oliver says anyway, “It might scare off whoever knows something in the department and send them into hiding.”

 

“Well, look, I’m a busy person,” she sighs. “I have a lot of cases, not just yours. So, it could take me a while to get an official report filed for every case my office oversees.”

 

“Thank you,” Oliver says gratefully.

 

“I can’t hold it off for long, but I can buy you some time,” she nods, and then she turns and Felicity thinks it’s a dismissal for a moment. Oliver shoots her a confused look, clearly surprised by the apparent abrupt dismissal as well, but Schwartz turns back to them with a specimen dish in her hand.

 

“There was something else that was strange about Webb’s apparent suicide,” she explains, holding the dish out for them to see. Oliver reaches for it before Felicity can, but she’s already caught a glimpse of what’s inside and it makes her chest uncomfortably warm. She doesn’t want to hear what else Schwartz has to say.

 

The doctor says it anyway, “I found that lodged in his esophagus.”

 

She thinks she might throw up.

 

“He  _ swallowed _ it?” Oliver asks, staring at the device. It’s a small plastic square, but the edges are sharp and it seems too big to have ended up there naturally.

 

“Or was forced to,” Schwartz shrugs.

 

“What is it?” Oliver frowns, staring down at the device. 

 

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Schwartz shrugs again and he shoots Felicity a curious look, tilting the dish for her to see better. Like he expects her to have the answer. 

 

God, she really wishes she didn’t.

 

Instead of answering, she looks at Schwartz and asks, “Can we take this with us?”

 

“Just make sure everything here is above board,” she cautions, but produces a small evidence bag from one of the drawers behind her. She picks the device up with gloved fingers and drops it inside. “It’s one thing to hold off on releasing an official report. It’s an entirely different thing to start messing with the chain of custody of evidence.”

 

The weight in Felicity’s pocket feels heavier with Schwartz’s words, but she nods nonetheless. Oliver may trust her – and Felicity trusts his judgement – but she isn’t ready to share everything she knows with the woman.

 

Oliver is the one who pockets the device this time, slipping it into a pocket on the inside of his jacket and thanking Schwartz. Felicity feels sick, turning and darting for the door while Oliver makes his goodbyes. She could leave him behind, they drove separately after all, and she considers it for a moment. But she doesn’t get far, leaning against the wall down the hall from the exam room and forcing herself to take slow breaths.

 

It doesn’t take Oliver long to come out in search of her. He recognizes the state she’s in, doesn’t press, doesn’t crowd her. Instead, he leans back against the wall across from her and waits. She wishes he would, though. Recklessly, she wishes he would reach for her, press her back against the painted bricks and cover her mouth with his own, stop her breathing all together for a moment.

 

He doesn’t and she pulls herself together on her own.

 

“Are you alright?” He asks after a moment, when her breathing steadies into a more natural rhythm. She nods, but feels the way he eyes rome over her, not buying the answer. “What’s going on? Does it have something to do with this?”

 

He pulls the evidence bag from his pocket, dangling it in the air. The device within taunts her, the etching on it crude and unfamiliar to anyone else. But she knows what to look for.

 

Rather than answering, she slips her hand into her own coat pocket and feels for the small, matching piece of plastic inside. She palms it and holds her hand out, the device laid in her palm, for Oliver to see. He frowns down at it.

 

“I found this in Alena’s hospital room,” she explains. “It’s how I knew that someone had been there. He’d left a note; ‘Come find me.’”

 

“Why didn’t you give it to the forensics team?” He hisses, stepping closer to her. A glance in either direction assures him they’re alone in the hallway.

 

“I panicked,” she whispers, staring down at the device in her hand. The ghost is unshapely, like a Pac-Man ghost drawn by a child. “It’s called a trip-disk.”

 

“Never heard of it,” Oliver says and she nods, figured as much.

 

“It’s mostly used by big corporations or government agencies, people worried about having their data stolen or misused,” she explains. “The idea is that the data is encrypted and then separated on to three disks. You can’t unencrypt the data on one without the other two.”

 

“Does the FBI use these?” He asks, lifting the bag in his hand to take a better look at the device within. Felicity shakes her head, closing her fingers around the partner in her own hand. The edges bite into her palm as she squeezes it tight.

 

“No,” she says. “But breaking into them was my specialty when I was a hacker.”

 

Oliver is no longer looking at the device, his eyes glued to her face. He’s closer now than she’d realized and, as much as she’d longed for the proximity a moment ago, she wishes he weren’t. If her fingers go any tighter, she thinks the device might break through skin, cover its shiny black plastic in her blood. She loosens her grip, lets the words fall from her mouth.

 

“A trip-disk is what got me caught.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm barreling headfirst into finals week, so I can't make any promises about the next update, but I'm glad to have this one up! Hopefully, it can sustain y'all for a little bit while my schedule goes crazy.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oliver and Felicity deal with the reality of her impending return to D.C. Something at the docks threatens to shake Starling City.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> heyy what's up i'm not dead!! rmr how i was like "oh i wanna finish this story by the end of the year"?? yeah, i'm a dumbass. i looked at my outline and there was just.... no way that was gonna happen. and then i just decided to drop everything and write a holiday fic. and start a social media au over on twitter. ....i'm bad at managing my impulses we Know this.
> 
> anyway! i hope you enjoy this chapter. i hesitate to call it "filler" because it's all kind of really important character-wise, it's just not quite as heavy on plot as the last chapter. but it's necessary and also a little bit of a softer chapter, imo.

By the time they leave the M.E.’s office, it’s begun to rain again. Which seems fitting, if hardly surprising for Starling. Oliver figures he’s probably spent more of his life in the rain than he has in the sun.

 

They crowd together near the door, Oliver having ushered Felicity out of the overly bright hallways and into the dreary late afternoon. She’s uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t need to rack his brain to understand why. They both have a matching hunk of plastic in their pockets, weighing them down.

 

He hadn’t pressed her for further information, aware of ears and eyes in the building. The last thing he needs is Felicity implicating herself in this or someone finding out she’d unceremoniously stolen evidence from a crime scene. He hadn’t taken the device from her, though maybe he should have. It’s risky to keep it, the chain of custody broken so irreparably that it’s more of a hindrance than a help. But there’s more to it, he can tell, just by the shaky way Felicity had held it in her palm, by the messy etching that decorated it on one side.

 

“Are you hungry?” He asks and he can tell the question startles her. They need to get out of the rain before it turns into a downpour. They’d taken separate cars – the black and white of her borrowed patrol car is lined up next to the sleek black of his own – but he’s not ready to leave her again.

 

He shouldn’t have left her this morning. Things always seem to take a turn for the worse when they go in separate directions.

 

She stares at him for a moment, contemplating the question like it’s a much harder one than it is. Searching for some kind of deeper meaning, he knows, because that’s all they’ve done lately. Search blindly for clues that lead them nowhere. Steal evidence and fabricate reports, all in the hopes that it will pay off without costing them their jobs.

 

There’d be some level of irony if they had to lose everything just to get their killer.

 

“Yeah, I-,” she says finally, huffing out a breath and raising her voice some so it can carry over the sound of the rain. “Yeah, I haven’t really eaten today.”

 

Felicity pouts up at him and he resists the urge to lean forward, cover her mouth with his own. Something had shifted during their conversation in the car. She’d brought up leaving and it had shocked him. Somehow he’d let himself forget that this is just temporary for her, a passing fancy.

 

“We should get food,” he says, trying to make the words come easy. She stares at him like he’s suggested they take a dip in the bay, but nods slowly in agreement. He looks back to the parking lot, to the cars lined up side-by-side in front of the bushes that now sag under the weight of the rain, and makes a decision.

 

“I’ll send someone to pick up the cruiser,” he say, beginning to reach for her, to place his hand on her back and guide her towards the car. He aborts the movement at the last minute, letting his hand linger awkwardly in the air between them. Felicity says nothing.

 

Instead, she ducks her head and steps from the relative shelter of the building above them. The rain hits her pink trench coat in plops, rolling down the curve of her shoulders. Oliver hikes up the collar on his leather jacket and follows after her. Their hurried footsteps turn to a mad sprint as thunder cracks overhead and by the time they make it to the car, they’re breathless and pink-cheeked from the cold.

 

Felicity slides into the passenger seat, slamming the door shut and shuddering to shake the drops from her coat. They land on his leather interior, but Oliver can’t find it in him to care. She looks over at him, a short, manic giggle falling from her lips and it makes him laugh in return. They settle there for a few minutes, windows fogging as the warmth of their bodies inside the car battles the cold rain outside.

 

She’s leaning on the console between them, trying to catch her breath between fits of giggles, and he’s just watching her, memorizing the mirth on her face, the way it brightens her features. He aches to keep it there, whatever the cost. Damn the case and the FBI and the whole world, if she’ll just keep looking at him like that.

 

When the urge pulls at him this time, he doesn’t resist. Ducking his head to cover her mouth with his own, the console digs into his ribs and it’s easily the most awkward angle he could have chosen. But her hand comes up, fingers cold at the tips, to cradle his jaw, her nails scraping through his beard as she kisses him back. And it’s absolutely worth a bruise over his ribs.

 

She pulls away from him, just enough to breathe, and moves her hand from his jaw to push the damp tendrils of her hair away from her face. He tracks the movement, watches the way her gaze dips to his collar, the sudden blush that’s colored her cheeks. Unsure where the nervousness has come from, he strokes his fingers over the collar of her coat, smoothing it down and flicking away the remaining raindrops.

 

“So,” she says slowly, straightening up and pulling away from him. “Dinner?”

 

He nods, not bothering to fight the smile that pulls at him as he sits back in his seat and straps the seatbelt across his chest. He slips the key into the ignition and listens to the engine turn over, the heating in the car kicking on and working to defog the windows.

 

“Dinner.”

 

\---

 

Oliver can feel the earlier tension slipping back between them as they wait for their food. Felicity stands a solid two feet from him, shifting endlessly on her heels as he sits in one of the chairs for waiting on. He should have called ahead, could have headed this off before it even started. But the idea of sitting in a restaurant to eat seems somehow worse than uncomfortably waiting for takeaway with her.

 

It feels like their first days working together, when he’d been rude and standoffish and she’d tried to navigate the minefield of shifting personalities and silent vendettas she’d stepped into. Even now, he knows she doesn’t know the half of what each person in the department – hell, in the city – has against each other.

 

But he likes to think he’d given her a friend, a partner, someone to guide her with careful steps through the treacherous landscape. And then he’d gone and ruined it.

 

Now, he isn’t sure where they stand. Maybe they should talk about that. Although, the host area of a Thai restaurant doesn’t exactly seem like the ideal place for it. Plus, he’s never been good at initiating these kinds of things.

 

And, for someone who’s usually so good at talking where he lacks, Felicity has been worryingly quiet.

 

“Hey,” he says quietly, pushing out of the chair and stepping into her space. She startles with the move, tension straightening her shoulders and back. The reaction makes him hesitate.

 

The bells on the entrance tinkle as a new customer arrives and Oliver lets the distraction be an excuse to step back out of Felicity’s space. He hates that he can’t seem to figure out how to handle this situation.

 

“Well, what are the chances?”

 

Felicity goes somehow even more rigid next to him and Oliver feels his own defenses raise at the sound of the voice behind him. He turns, not bothering to school his features as Adrian Chase beams easily at him from the doorway. Felicity, much smarter and kinder than him, offers Chase a smile in return. It doesn’t reach her eyes, nothing like the way she’d smiled at him in the car earlier, but Chase doesn’t seem to notice.

 

“I’ve seen more of you the past few weeks than I have in my whole time in Starling City,” he says, turning the smile on Oliver. He blinks, not giving an inch. Chase shifts, stepping forward and turning his sights on Felicity.

 

“Agent Smoak,” he greets. Oliver watches as his hand comes up, strokes down Felicity’s upper arm like it’s natural. He balls his hands into fists at his sides, resists the urge to violently insert himself between her and the District Attorney. “I heard you caught your man.”

 

Felicity’s gaze flickers to Oliver and he’s sure the move doesn’t go unnoticed by Chase. 

 

“Looks that way,” she says easily and he has to bite down a smile of pride at the way she holds herself, plays Chase so easily.

 

“A terrible thing not to get to try him myself,” he comments and Oliver’s irritation grows at the knowledge that Chase knows so much about their case. Chase’s hand skims further down Felicity’s arm before slipping behind her. He can’t see it, but Oliver can imagine his hand landing on her back, spanning the expanse of her coat.

 

His fingers bite into his palms.

 

“He’s where he belongs,” Felicity says and the venom in her voice surprises him. He watches Chase, catches the way his eyes narrow. She’s surprised him, too. Oliver could laugh in his face if he weren’t so tense.

 

“Detective Queen.”

 

The soft voice of the hostess pulls all of them from the moment. He turns to greet her with a smile, trying to make it seem genuine. He orders from here a lot and knows she works long hours, but she’s always kind to him and he goes out of his way to tip her a little extra. A large brown bag sits on the counter in front of her, steam from within already creating water spots on the paper. A staple through the receipt holds the overstuffed bag closed.

 

“Well, that’s us,” he says, taking the bag from the woman with a quiet thank you and turning back to Chase. He’s keeping his hands to himself now, tucking breezily into the pockets of his peacoat. Felicity steps away from him, towards the door. “We’ll see you around, Chase.”

 

Oliver steps past him, meeting Felicity where she holds the door for him. The bells clang against the glass, tinkling and rattling loudly. The rain outside has become heavier, falling with a ruckus onto the pavement.

 

They’re halfway out the door when Chase says it and Oliver nearly misses it.

 

“That you will.”

 

\---

 

“Here, let me just-”

 

Oliver shifts the food in his hands to push the door to his apartment open. He flips the light on next to the doorway and pauses, wishing he’d thought ahead enough to consider whether he’d cleaned up or not. 

 

“We can eat there,” he says, indicating the mostly cleared off coffee table in front of the couch. There’s a blanket pushed lazily up against one arm and a pillow on the opposite, painfully obvious he’d slept there the last time he’d actually managed to close his eyes for more than a few minutes.

 

Felicity takes the food from him, following him into the apartment. She hasn’t been inside since the night she’d shown up at his door, confessing to her meetings with the mayor. The night he’d chosen to trust her, despite his attempts to do otherwise. When just sharing the couch with her as she worked through his files and he dozed next to her had seemed like too much.

 

He watches her gaze around the space, moving towards the couch. She settles onto it like she’s never been here before, knees pressed tight together as she sets the bag on the table.

 

“I think I have a bottle of wine somewhere,” he says, remembering the bottle suddenly. It had been a gift from his sister, something old and expensive. He’d put it away and forgotten about it for a long time.

 

He hears the sound of papers shift in the living room as he searches the kitchen, imagines Felicity picking through the documents left on the coffee table, her curiosity outweighing her discomfort. The remains of their night going through his investigation into leaks in the department are still spread on the table, he knows. He hasn’t been home for long enough to clean up since then.

 

Maybe she’ll find something, with the information they have now.

 

The bottle is on the top shelf of his pantry, a little dust covered, shoved back into the cabinet and forgotten. There’s still a note taped to it, his sister’s swirling signature at the bottom. ‘ _ Share it with someone special. _ ’ Not the least of Thea’s very unsubtle hints that he should begin dating again.

 

Felicity calls his name softly from the living room and he pulls the note from the bottle, decides not to think about it as he fishes a corkscrew out of the cabinet and returns to the living room with two glasses.

 

She’s holding one of his files aloft when he joins her, setting the glasses down gently next to the unopened bag of food. The pinch between her brows tells him she has, in fact, found something new. Unsurprised, he frowns at her.

 

“What is it?”

 

“Your search for the leak was focused on the connection to Black Hawk,” she says and he nods in acknowledgement. “Maybe you didn’t find anything because it’s deeper than that. Black Hawk might just be the tip of the iceberg in terms of shady shit your department is wrapped up in.”

 

“Yeah, well, I think that’s hard to deny at this point,” he sighs, settling onto the couch next to her. He twists the corkscrew into the top of the bottle as she talks, becoming more agitated as her thoughts speed up, he knows.

 

“No, but I mean, what if it’s not about the department at all?” She says, setting the folder aside. Excitement coloring her tone, she sits up and shifts towards him, tucking one of her legs under herself. It presses her knee up against his thigh. “We’ve been looking for the leak in the department, with the knowledge of the mayor and the D.A. in the back of minds. But what if it’s not about the department at all? What if it’s about the entirety of city leadership?”

 

The cork pops out of the bottle, the heady scent of the red wine within fills the air around them. Oliver frowns, looking over at her.

 

“I know the mayor is unlikable and I don’t doubt she has her finger in every pie she can,” he says slowly. “But you’re talking about widespread corruption.”

 

“I know it’s a lot, but,” she shrugs, peering at him with wide eyes, asking him to believe her. He can’t think of a reason not to. “I mean, we were basically just threatened by the District Attorney. You wouldn’t consider that sinister behavior?”

 

“Everything about Adrian Chase is sinister,” he growls, setting the bottle down on the table.

 

“Maybe you were right,” she says slowly, settling down into the couch. Her shoulders droop and Oliver suddenly realizes she’s still wearing her coat but has shed her heels beneath the coffee table. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been playing with fire by playing the mayor’s game all this time.”

 

“Felicity,” he says seriously, searching out her hand with his own. He squeezes her fingers gently. “I’m not going to let Chase or Adams hurt you, alright? Trust me.”

 

She pulls her hand from his suddenly, the fire returning to her eyes as she glares at him. He sits back a touch, surprised by her change in mood.

 

“I’m not worried about me, Oliver,” she argues. “One way or another, I get to go back to the other side of the country after this. I can run. What will  _ you _ do you?”

 

“You’re worried about  _ me _ ?”

 

“Of course I am!” She exhales the words, throwing her hands up in exasperation at him. One narrowly misses his jaw as they fall back down.

 

He frowns, surprise registering at the knowledge that she’s more concerned for him than for herself. Her she is, in an unfamiliar and unfriendly city, sitting with a man who’s been nothing but a hindrance to her job since she met him, having just been practically felt up and then threatened by a corrupt D.A. And she’s worried about him, of all people.

 

She’s the most ridiculous person he’s ever met.

 

“I’ll be fine,” he says.

 

But maybe she’s right to worry. He’s always known his world existed on the edge of a knife, careful to keep from tipping too far one way or the other. Biting his tongue around Lance, avoiding John, lying to his sister about his general wellbeing.

 

Adams is an entirely different bear to be poking at and he can’t be sure there’s anything to protect him. But he’s faced down worse and he’s not going to let Felicity worry about him because of guilt. She should go back to D.C. He’s known that from the beginning. She should run as far and as fast from Starling as she can.

 

“You’re a terrible liar,” she frowns, but the fire in her gaze is softer now, no longer glaring at him. She moves, tucking her other leg up under herself so she faces him fully. Both knees press gently against his thigh now.

 

She reaches for his hands this time, taking one between both of her own. Her thumb strokes over the back of his knuckles and he stares down at them, tracking the movement of her pink-painted nail.

 

“How am I just supposed to leave you here after setting all of this in motion?” She asks quietly and he hates how terribly familiar the guilt in her voice sounds, how he recognizes the weight she’s taken upon her own shoulders. “If I leave, any target on my back is just going to end up on yours. Because you’ll keep digging and you’ll keep working at it, even without me. Because you’re a good person, Oliver.”

 

“Am I?” He breathes, not intending the words to be more than a thought. The words bury in his chest, nestled somewhere between his lungs, burning like a warm flame. He wants to believe here. Still… “You have to go home eventually.”

 

The words hurt, taste wrong on his tongue, but he knows they’re true.

 

“Do I?” She asks, matching his volume, surprising him. He’s sure she isn’t considering the reality of it. The supervisor breathing down her neck – a supervisor who still doesn’t know she was shot at last night. The job and life in D.C. that he knows she likes, even if she’s momentarily caught up in the whirlwind mystery of Starling City.

 

“What if what I want is right here?” She asks, looking up at him now. Her thumb continues to stroke over the sensitive skin of his hand, her fingers still chilly from navigating the rain outside.

 

But, on the other hand, maybe reality can wait until tomorrow.

 

He presses forward and captures her mouth beneath his own. Her hands drop his, moving up to wrap around the back of his neck, pull him in further against her. The raindrops still drying on her coat roll off the material, leave wet spots on his jeans. He searches between them for the buttons of her coat, helping ease it off her shoulders.

 

Suddenly, she’s up on her knees, pushing further into his space as her mouth moves against his. He’s lost so easily, disappearing into the taste of her, the feel of her nails scratching gently through the hair at the back of his head. His hands fumble up her back, back down towards the curve of her ass, desperate to feel her everywhere.

 

Felicity is in his lap now, her hips rolling against his, pushing them closer to the point of no return. His hands still on her back, but he kisses her a little longer, revels in her for a few extra moments before he makes himself pull away. She whines into his mouth, chasing him, and it nearly sends him over the edge.

 

“Our food is gonna get cold,” he explains and she lets out a soft laugh, working to catch her breath. He grins up at her, hovering over him with her knees bracketing his thighs. “Plus, you know, I did open a very expensive bottle of wine.”

 

She twists on top of him, searching out the bottle of wine as if she hadn’t noticed it. And then she moans and his fingers dig into her back, the sound nearly undoing him.

 

“Oh, I love red wine.”

 

\---

 

Oliver is amazed they make it. Through dinner. Through the surprisingly smooth bottle of wine. Through Felicity pinned beneath him in his bed, one leg hooked over his arm as he presses into her, her hips moving to meet his, driving him deeper until they’re both spent and panting under his sheets.

 

Felicity’s leg slips between his as she rolls half on top of him, her nails dragging over the scar on his stomach. He tries to remember the last time he’d shared this bed with someone else, can’t. Decides it doesn’t matter anyway. Decides it’s only been waiting for her all this time.

 

She presses a soft kiss to his chest, the gentleness of it making his fingers tighten where they rest on her naked back. He’s dangerously close to saying something he shouldn’t, something that would only make this all harder on both of them. He bites down on his tongue, ducks his head to capture her mouth with his own instead, lets her swallow the words before he can ruin this. And she’s moving up his body again, giving herself a better angle. Maybe he could rally, take advantage of the quiet evening and pretend, just for now, that she really is his.

 

But that’s as far as they make it.

 

Felicity’s phone begins trilling from the living room, abandoned along with the empty wine bottle and leftover thai food. She freezes against him, eyes going wide as she pulls away to look down at him, one hand planted on his chest.

 

“Oh no,” she whispers, like she’s afraid to speak too loudly.

 

“You should get it,” Oliver says, following her lead. She sighs, but nods and pushes on his chest to leverage herself up off the bed. He watches her move, the lamp next to his bed washing her skin in warm yellow light, scooping up the undershirt she’d helped him shed and pulling it over her body.

 

He sits up as she disappears through the door, back into the main area of his apartment. The bed is suddenly cold without her pressed against him. He eases out of it, searching out a pair of sweatpants and pulling them on before he joins her.

 

She speaks in clipped, low tones on the phone.

 

“No, I understand that but–” She halts, biting down on her lip. Oliver registers the admonishment that crosses her face and he figures it must be her supervising agent on the other end of the call. He’s surprised it’s taken so long for the news of Felicity’s run in to reach D.C.

 

“I know what we agreed upon but I think the situation has changed since we last talked,” she says, her shoulders straightening out. She glances up at Oliver and he raises his eyebrows in question. He watches her face change, shame turning to determination. “With all due respect, Agent Watson, you told me I could work this case and, as long as the Starling City detectives will let me, I intend to do so.”

 

She hangs up, dropping her phone into her lap and looking up at him. Her eyes have gone round with shock.

 

“That sounded good,” he comments, slowly.

 

“I might have just gotten myself fired,” she says.

 

Oliver tries to control his features, not wanting to give away his surprise at how she’d handled her supervisor, knowing it’ll only stress her out further. Instead, he sits on the couch next to her, reaches for her bare thigh, just above her knee, and gives it a gentle squeeze.

 

“It’s alright,” he assures her. “Once we find this guy – and we  _ will _ find him – the department will give you a glowing commendation for your assistance and she won’t have a choice but to keep you on.”

 

Felicity nods, though he doesn’t think she quite believes him. Still, something is blooming in his chest at the thought of her sticking around. It’s warm and heavy and feels strangely like hope. He doesn’t want to give into it. Felicity doesn’t deserve to be stuck here with him, down in the mud and grime of Starling.

 

One way or another, he’ll make sure she gets back to D.C. at the end of all of this.

 

A frown pinches her brow as she looks down at his hand on her knee. The air smells like thai food and, somehow, he finds himself hungry again. Felicity shifts underneath him, his hand falling from his leg, and the move startles him.

 

“Should we, uh,” she starts, looking up at him now. There’s worry in her features, he recognizes the crease forming in her forehead. “Do we need to talk? About this?”

 

Her hands come up, signaling the two of them with a short, jerky motion. Oliver’s brows go up in surprise. He thought they had at least worked it out. Hell, he’d just helped her to multiple orgasms in his bedroom.

 

“Do we?” He frowns. “I mean, if you want to, of course! Do you… Do you want to tell me where you’re still confused?”

 

“I know that… it’s been a crazy couple weeks and you’re maybe lacking in, let’s go with  _ companionship _ , around here, but I-”

 

“Felicity, I’m not sleeping with you because you’re conveniently around,” he says, cutting her off once he realizes where she’s going. He doesn’t know how she could think that. He wishes he was better at this part of it. “I… I don’t know how to explain it, but ever since you showed up, I’ve been fighting this. There’s just… There’s just something about you.”

 

“Yeah?” She breathes, biting down on her lip. He can’t help it, the way a laugh bubbles up from his chest, startled out of him. He shifts towards her, one hand seeking out hers while the other plays with the end of one of her curls. “Because this afternoon, when I mentioned going back to D.C., I didn’t know how you felt about it. You kind of shut me out.”

 

“I know,” he nods, his hand moving from her hair to run his knuckles over the line of her jaw. She shivers under the touch, her own hands reaching for his bare stomach, moving over his sides. “I let myself forget, for a moment, that you can’t stay. It was a wake up call is all.”

 

“What if I can?” She asks.

 

“You can’t, Felicity,” he sighs. “I could never ask that of you. You have a life and a career far away from Starling and you deserve to go back to it. So, I can’t tell you what’s gonna happen after you do but, right now, for as long as we can and in whatever capacity, I’m just happy to be with you.”

 

She’s quiet for a moment, her fingertips stroking over his skin and causing goosebumps to form in their wake.

 

“I think that’s the most consecutive words you’ve ever said to me,” she says finally, a teasing lilt to her voice. He shakes his head, biting down on the smile threatening to take over his face. Her hand moves up his side, curling around the side of his neck. “Who knew you were such a sap, Detective Queen?”

 

She tugs him forward, catching his lips with her own. He moves easily, his hand on her jaw giving him leverage to tilt her head, improve the angle as he responds to her kiss. He sighs into her, his other hand wrapping in the material of her stolen t-shirt, pulling her closer.

 

He knows this shouldn’t feel so easy, but he can’t stop himself.

 

They settle back into the couch, diving into seconds of the now lukewarm thai food on the table. Felicity throws her legs over his lap, stabs at a takeout container with a fork. They manage a few more minutes of calm, quiet conversation about nothing in particular flowing mostly from Felicity.

 

And then it’s his phone that breaks the moment.

 

He almost doesn’t answer it, but Felicity pulls her legs back to herself and nudges his thigh with her toes. With a sigh, Oliver pushes off of the couch, searching for the offending device in the trail of abandoned clothing that leads to the bedroom.

 

“It’s Lance,” he says aloud once he sees the screen.

 

Oliver can count on one hands the amount of times the Captain has called him personally about anything, and it’s never been for a friendly chat. He looks over and Felicity is up off the couch now to, frowning at him. He swipes to answer the call before it can go to voicemail.

 

“Captain Lance,” he greets.

 

“Get down here, Queen,” Lance says, never one for preamble. “Now.”

 

\---

 

It’s like being doused with cold water. Any safety and calm he’d felt in the bubble he and Felicity had created had disappeared instantly. They’d moved around one another, pulling their clothes on and getting themselves together. Felicity had changed into the same things she’d pulled on that morning, but Oliver had opted for a fresh pair of jeans and sweater.

 

The drive to the precinct is silent, uncharacteristic, but he thinks they can both feel the shift in the winds. Lance hadn’t just sounded pissed on the phone, he’d sounded shaken. He’d been a detective for years before becoming captain. Oliver’s only ever seen him shaken once, after the car accident.

 

Arriving at the station is the final burst to their quiet bubble.

 

It’s chaos as soon as they enter the precinct, bodies moving and packing together. He feels Felicity’s fingers grasp, fleetingly, at the sleeve of his jacket. Eager not to lose him in the busyness, but rethinking the move as soon as she begins it. It’ll be a conscious effort to keep his own hands to himself from now on.

 

“Dinah!” He calls out when he spots her lingering near their desks. His eyes move past her to where she’s looking, the captain’s door. Closed, but light pools from behind the blinds, beneath the door. She looks over her shoulder as he approaches.

 

Even without her touch, he can feel Felicity’s presence as she follows close behind him. When he stops, she pulls up next to him, her hands tucked safely in the pockets of her pink trench coat.

 

“What’s going on?” He asks, lowering his voice now that he’s close enough to Dinah to be heard over the din of the precinct.

 

“Don’t know,” she answers, shortly, throwing another look towards Lance’s office. “Captain’s got the whole place in crisis mode, but he hasn’t told anyone why. All I’ve managed to get is that they found another body and Lance was one of the first to the scene. Locked the whole thing down, gag orders, no press. CSI hasn’t even been there yet.”

 

“Is it normal for your captain to respond to a murder scene?” Felicity asks. Dinah shakes her head in the negative. She switches track. “How’s Alena doing?”

 

“Good,” Dinah nods. She cuts a look towards Oliver. “Better now that she’s under protection at A.R.G.U.S. Thanks for that, by the way.”

 

He feels Felicity’s eyes on him.

 

“You got Alena moved to A.R.G.U.S.?”

 

“After what happened at the hospital, I didn’t want to take any chances,” he explains. “I just called Lyla and cashed in another favor.” He looks back to Dinah and adds, “Alena’s one of us.”

 

She nods sharply, but he can see the gratefulness there. He hadn’t even thought twice about it as he’d called Lyla and asked her to take Alena into their in-house medical services. With someone having gotten into her hospital room so easily and them not knowing who they can trust on the force, it hadn’t taken much convincing.

 

He feels Felicity’s hand slide down his forearm over the sleeve of his jacket, her own small show of appreciation.

 

The captain’s door swings open suddenly and Lance comes out, his eyes landing on them immediately. He takes quick strides to join them.

 

“You three,” he snaps, moving briskly past them rather than stopping. “With me.”

 

Dinah falls into step with him while Felicity and Oliver follow behind.

 

“What’s going on, sir?” Dinah asks. “We haven’t been given any information since you called us.”

 

“Good,” Lance bites. “That’s the general idea. There’s a reason we’re in crisis-mode here and no one knows why. I don’t want this getting to city leadership just yet. Not until we have a handle on this.”

 

“What is this?” Felicity calls and Oliver can hear the frustration in her tone. Lance slows, sending her a sharp look, but she doesn’t defer to him. She presses, “Have a handle on what? Why call us down here if you aren’t going to tell us anything?”

 

Lance stops, turning to shoot her a dark look. Felicity falls back on her heels with his sudden stop and tacks on, “Sir.”

 

It doesn’t sound like a term of respect though, the way she bites it out while staring up at him with a hard look. Oliver has to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud at the emotions fighting on Lance’s face. Maybe standing up to her own boss had emboldened Felicity, or maybe she’s sick of everyone’s shit today. Oliver doesn’t know, but he’s not against her sudden no-nonsense attitude either.

 

“You two been spending too much time together,” Lance growls, looking towards Oliver like Felicity’s show of disrespect is his fault. “I assure you, I did bring you all down here for a reason – though I don’t  _ remember _ calling you, specifically –” This earns Oliver another look, “but I think once we get to the scene, it’ll all start to make sense.”

 

“Where is the scene?” Oliver asks. “Dinah said you find another body, but not where.”

 

Lance spins around, leading towards the door once again. He wags his fingers over his shoulder, telling them to keep up with his stride. They fall back into line, cutting easily through the chaos of the precinct with the captain at the helm.

 

“Drake, you can come with me,” he directs. “Queen, since you and Agent Smoak seem to be getting along so well, you can follow us in your own car.”

 

“Fine,” Oliver bites, taking a slow breath and trying to keep his temper. He tries once more, “Follow you  _ where _ ?”

 

“The docks.”

 

\---

 

Nothing good happens at Starling’s docks. Not much good happens in the city in general, but it’s safe to say the worst of it lingers at the docks. Drug deals, illegal arms sales, manufacturing of all kinds of evils. Oliver feels tense as they pull up to the crime scene, though if he didn’t know that’s what it was, he wouldn’t be able to pick it out.

 

Two plain clothes officers linger around the edges. He sees them eye the plates of the cars as they pull up, but when Lance steps out of the first one, they nod at him. McKenna is already on the scene, near the edge of the dock where it drops into the bay. There’s a dark mass at her feet, presumably their corpse, covered by a tarp.

 

“Oliver,” Felicity says, reaching for his arm and stopping him as he moves to step out of the car. “This doesn’t look like a crime scene. It looks like a cover up.”

 

His jaw works, staring through the windshield. Ahead of them, Dinah and Lance join McKenna at the edge of the dock. He’s trusted McKenna for the better part of a decade and Lance would know better than to go to a cop whose skill is finding leaks for a cover up. But, whatever this is? It’s bad.

 

“Stay alert,” he cautions, finding her hand and giving it a squeeze before finally exiting the car. Felicity follows him on her side and he hears her door close a few seconds after his own.

 

“What the hell is going on?” He hisses once they join the others. The waves beneath them slap against the concrete of the pier, the water upset by some storm off in the horizon. It’s almost loud enough to cover their voices, but Oliver doesn’t trust the privacy of the docks.

 

“We got a call of shots fired,” McKenna explains, taking point. Her windbreaker is turned inside out, the SCPD logos and lettering hidden.

 

“Down here?” Dinah frowns.

 

“I know, it’s weird,” McKenna nods. “But we got the call, so the closest patrol responded.”

 

She jerks her head towards the two men lingering near their cars. Oliver turns and watches them patrol in circles, eyes on the warehouses surrounding them, as McKenna continues.

 

“They said they got out here and didn’t see anyone, but decided to do a thorough search anyway. Late night on this side of the town, they were bound to find something worth doing. Instead, they found him.”

 

Oliver turns just in time to see McKenna foot kick forward, nudge the tarp-covered mound with her toes. He frowns at the casualness of the move, the lack of respect. And at the way it squelches with the movement, water trickling from underneath the tarp and carving a path over the concrete.

 

“Found him where?” He frowns.

 

“Floating in the bay.”

 

“How’d they get him out?” Felicity asks, staring down at the black tarp.

 

“They called me and I called a team,” Lance explains, taking over. “And then I sent them away before they could realize what they were dealing with.”

 

“If he’d been in the water for long, he might not even be recognizable,” Felicity says slowly and Oliver figures post-mortem disfiguration must be part of her infinite knowledge. “Cadavers bloat. Add water and they wrinkle, disfigure.”

 

“Oh, he’s recognizable, alright,” Lance huffs, bending down to lift the corner of the tarp. He tosses it diagonally, uncovering the head, neck, part of the chest. Dinah lets out a low breath, but it’s Oliver that Lance looks up at. “Recognize him, Queen?”

 

Easily. Oliver has seen his face a hundred times over his life. Moving around his parent’s parties with his wife and, later, his daughter on his arm. He’s stared at his corporate headshot, paperclipped to a manilla envelope, his name on the edge, his myriad of crimes building up inside of it. They’ve been trying to put an end to his operations for years.

 

“Frank Bertinelli,” he says, unnecessarily he supposes. Everyone here knows him. Well, everyone except– He looks to Felicity, explaining, “He’s the head of the Bertinelli crime syndicate. Wealthy, powerful, untouchable.”

 

“Sounds like our guy’s M.O.,” she says, frowning. “So, why all the cloak and dagger?”

 

“Bertinelli’s not just another run-of-the-mill Starling billionaire with money to burn and a rap sheet as long as my arm,” Lance explains, pulling the tarp back over Bertinelli’s head and standing up. “No offense, Queen.”

 

Oliver lets out an involuntary low noise of annoyance, but he thinks Felicity is the only one close enough to him to hear it. He takes over for Lance, turning towards Felicity and ignoring his captain.

 

“The Bertinelli’s run half of Starling and they’re usually one very uneasy truce away from things going south with the people who run the other half,” he says. “The Chinese Triad moved into Starling about a decade ago and took over any part of Starling that Bertinelli didn’t already have control over.”

 

“Okay,” Felicity nods. “And?”

 

“If Bertinelli’s death gets out and we don’t have a suspect to offer up,” McKenna starts, slowly. She shares an uneasy glance with Oliver, familiar with the trouble the Triad and the Bertinellis had caused vice.

 

Oliver finishes for her,

 

“Starling City is going to become a war zone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did a biiit of a rebrand to everything, as you might have noticed. (i'm fbismoak now instead of smoakscreen.) it's because i came up with smoakscreen in 2013 and it's just not... something i love anymore? not sure why but yeah. i wanted everything to match and have an actual cohesive Brand, so yeah. you can also find me on twitter as @fbismoak
> 
> okay it's 1:30am (as i'm writing this and drafting it) and i have back-to-back meetings all day tomorrow so i need sleep. love u bye!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?
> 
> follow me places?  
> twitter: [@fbismoak](http://twitter.com/fbismoak)  
> tumblr: [fbismoak](http://fbismoak.tumblr.com)


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